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THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

MARY  ROBERTS  RINEHART 


THE  WORKS  OF 

MARY  ROBERTS 
RINEHART 


THE  CIRCULAR 
STAIRCASE 


THE  REVIEW  OF   REVIEWS   COMPANY 

Publishers  NEW  YORK 

PCBLUHED    El    ASUNOBHINT    WITH    GBOBOB    H.    DOBIN     COMP1NT. 


COPYRIGHT,    1908, 
BY  THE   BOBBS-MERRILL   COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OP  AMERICA 


THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

3535 

(c— 

CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I 

I  TAKE  A  COUNTRY  HOUSE     . 

9 

II 

A  LINK  CUFF-BUTTON 

.       19 

III 

MR.  JOHN  BAILEY  APPEARS 

.       29 

IV 

WHERE  is  HALSEY?  .... 

-       35 

V 

GERTRUDE'S  ENGAGEMENT 

.-       43 

VI 

IN  THE  EAST  CORRIDOR 

.-      51 

VII 

A  SPRAINED  ANKLE   .... 

-      59 

VIII 

THE  OTHER  HALF  OF  THE  LINK 

.      68 

IX 

JUST  LIKE  A  GIRL      .... 

.      80 

X 

THE  TRADERS'  BANK 

.      90 

XI 

HALSEY  MAKES  A  CAPTURE 

.      99 

XII 

ONE  MYSTERY  FOR  ANOTHER   . 

.     105 

XIII 

LOUISE         

lie 

XIV 

AN  EGG-NOG  AND  A  TELEGRAM 

.      129 

XV 

LlDDY    GIVES    THE    ALARM 

•      136 

XVI 

IN  THE  EARLY  MORNING 

-      143 

XVII 

A  HINT  OF  SCANDAL 

.     '149 

XVIII 

A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL      . 

•     159 

XIX 

CONCERNING  THOMAS       .       .       ..- 

.     167 

XX 

DOCTOR  WALKER'S  WARNING 

•     173 

XXI 

FOURTEEN  ELM  STREET    . 

.     181 

XXII 

A  LADDER  OUT  OF  PLACE 

•     T93 

XXIII 

WHILE  THE  STABLES  BURNED 

.     199 

XXIV 

FLINDERS 

208 

THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XXV 

A  VISIT  FROM  LOUISE     ..      ,.; 

•:    •  >      215 

XXVI 

HALSEY'S  DISAPPEARANCE       M 

>     .   225 

XXVII 

WHO  is  NINA  CARRINGTON?  x 

>.       :•      235 

XXVIII 

A  TRAMP  AND  THE  TOOTHACHE 

[.;      '    ;.        242 

XXIX 

A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  .       .       .• 

a       >;     251 

XXX 

WHEN  CHURCHYARDS  YAWN  >: 

>           ;.        200 

XXXI 

BETWEEN  Two  FIREPLACES     >: 

>    !.-,,    267 

XXXII 

ANNE  WATSON'S  STORY    . 

>:       --      273 

XXXIII 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  STAIRS     . 

.;              .          280 

XXXIV 

THE  ODDS  AND  ENDS      :. 

>;       ...     293 

THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 


THE 
CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

CHAPTER  I 

I   TAKE   A    COUNTRY    HOUSE 

IS  is  the  story  of  how  a  middle-aged  spinster 
lost  her  mind,  deserted  her  domestic  gods  in  the 
city,  took  a  furnished  house  for  the  summer  out  of 
town,  and  found  herself  involved  in  one  of  those  mys- 
terious crimes  that  keep  our  newspapers  and  detective 
agencies  happy  and  prosperous.  For  twenty  years  I 
had  been  perfectly  comfortable;  for  twenty  years  I 
had  had  the  window-boxes  filled  in  the  spring,  the  car- 
pets lifted,  the  awnings  put  up  and  the  furniture 
covered  with  brown  linen;  for  as  many  summers  I 
had  said  good-by  to  my  friends,  and,  after  watching 
their  perspiring  hegira,  had  settled  down  to  a  deli- 
cious quiet  in  town,  where  the  mail  comes  three  times 
a  day,  and  the  water  supply  does  not  depend  on  a 
tank  on  the  roof. 

And  then — the  madness  seized  me.  When  I  look 
back  over  the  months  I  spent  at  Sunnyside,  I  wonder 
that  I  survived  at  all.  As  it  is,  I  show  the  wear  and 
tear  of  my  harrowing  experiences.  I  have  turned  very 
gray — Liddy  reminded  me  of  it,  only  yesterday,  by 
9 


10      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

saying  that  a  little  bluing  in  the  rinse-water  would 
make  my  hair  silvery,  instead  of  a  yellowish  white.  I 
hate  to  be  reminded  of  unpleasant  things  and  I 
snapped  her  off. 

"No,"  I  said  sharply,  "I'm  not  going  to  use  bluing 
at  my  time  of  life,  or  starch,  either." 

Liddy's  nerves  are  gone,  she  said,  since  that  awful 
summer,  but  she  has  enough  left,  goodness  knows! 
And  when  she  begins  to  go  around  with  a  lump  in  her 
throat,  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  threaten  to  return  to 
Sunnyside,  and  she  is  frightened  into  a  semblance  of 
cheerfulness, — from  which  you  may  judge  that  the 
summer  there  was  anything  but  a  success. 

The  newspaper  accounts  have  been  so  garbled  and 
incomplete — one  of  them  mentioned  me  but  once,  and 
then  only  as  the  tenant  at  the  time  the  thing  hap- 
pened— that  I  feel  it  my  due  to  tell  what  I  know.  Mr. 
Jamieson,  the  detective,  said  himself  he  could  never 
have  done  without  me,  although  he  gave  me  little 
enough  credit,  in  print. 

I  shall  have  to  go  back  several  years — thirteen,  to 
be  exact — to  start  my  story.  At  that  time  my  brother 
died,  leaving  me  his  two  children.  Halsey  was  eleven 
then,  and  Gertrude  was  seven.  All  the  responsibilties 
of  maternity  were  thrust  upon  me  suddenly;  to  per- 
fect the  profession  of  motherhood  requires  precisely 
as  many  years  as  the  child  has  lived,  like  the  man  who 
started  to  carry  the  calf  and  ended  by  walking  along 
with  the  bull  on  his  shoulders.  However,  I  did  the 
best  I  could.  When  Gertrude  got  past  the  hair-ribbon 


I  TAKE  A  COUNTRY  HOUSE      11 

age,  and  Halsey  asked  for  a  scarf-pin  and  put  on 
long  trousers — and  a  wonderful  help  that  was  to  the 
darning! — I  sent  them  away  to  good  schools.  After 
that,  my  responsibility  was  chiefly  postal,  with  three 
months  every  summer  in  which  to  replenish  their 
wardrobes,  look  over  their  lists  of  acquaintances,  and 
generally  to  take  my  foster-motherhood  out  of  its 
nine  months'  retirement  in  camphor. 

I  missed  the  summers  with  them  when,  somewhat 
later,  at  boarding-school  and  college,  the  children 
spent  much  of  their  vacations  with  friends.  Gradu- 
ally I  found  that  my  name  signed  to  a  check  was  even 
more  welcome  than  when  signed  to  a  letter,  though  I 
wrote  them  at  stated  intervals.  But  when  Halsey  had 
finished  his  electrical  course  and  Gertrude  her  board- 
ing-school, and  both  came  home  to  stay,  things  were 
suddenly  changed.  The  winter  Gertrude  came  out 
was  nothing  but  a  succession  of  sitting  up  late  at 
night  to  bring  her  home  from  things,  taking  her  to 
the  dressmakers  between  naps  the  next  day,  and  dis- 
couraging ineligible  youths  with  either  more  money 
than  brains,  or  more  brains  than  money.  Also,  I  ac- 
quired a  great  many  things :  to  say  lingerie  for  under- 
garments, "frocks"  and  "gowns"  instead  of  dresses, 
and  that  beardless  sophomores  are  not  college  boys,  but 
college  men.  Halsey  required  less  personal  supervi- 
sion, and  as  they  both  got  their  mother's  fortune  that 
winter,  my  responsibility  became  purely  moral.  Halsey 
bought  a  car,  of  course,  and  I  learned  how  to  tie  over 
my  bonnet  a  gray  baize  veil,  and,  after  a  time,  never 


12      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

to  stop  to  look  at  the  dogs  one  has  run  down.  People 
are  apt  to  be  so  unpleasant  about  their  dogs. 

The  additions  to  my  education  made  me  a  properly 
equipped  maiden  aunt,  and  by  spring  I  was  quite 
tractable.  So  when  Halsey  suggested  camping  in  the 
Adirondacks  and  Gertrude  wanted  Bar  Harbor,  we 
compromised  on  a  good  country  house  with  links  near, 
within  motor  distance  of  town  and  telephone  distance 
of  the  doctor.  That  was  how  we  went  to  Sunny  side. 

We  went  out  to  inspect  the  property,  and  it  seemed 
to  deserve  its  name.  Its  cheerful  appearance  gave  no 
indication  whatever  of  anything  out  of  the  ordinary. 
Only  one  thing  seemed  unusual  to  me :  the  housekeeper, 
who  had  been  left  in  charge,  had  moved  from  the 
house  to  the  gardener's  lodge,  a  few  days  before.  As 
the  lodge  was  far  enough  away  from  the  house,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  either  fire  or  thieves  could  complete 
their  work  of  destruction  undisturbed.  The  property 
was  an  extensive  one:  the  house  on  the  top  of  a  hill, 
which  sloped  away  in  great  stretches  of  green  lawn 
and  clipped  hedges,  to  the  road;  and  across  the  valley, 
perhaps  a  couple  of  miles  away,  was  the  Greenwood 
Club  House.  Gertrude  and  Halsey  were  infatuated. 

"Why,  it's  everything  you  want,"  Halsey  said. 
"View,  air,  good  water  and  good  roads.  As  for  the 
house,  it's  big  enough  for  a  hospital,  if  it  has  a  Queen 
Anne  front  and  a  Mary  Anne  back,"  which  was  ridicu- 
lous :  it  was  pure  Elizabethan. 

Of  course  we  took  the  place;  it  was  not  my  idea  of 
comfort,  being  much  too  large  and  sufficiently  isolated 


I  TAKE  A  COUNTRY  HOUSE      13 

to  make  the  servant  question  serious.  But  I  give  my- 
self credit  for  this:  whatever  has  happened  since,  I 
never  blamed  Halsey  and  Gertrude  for  taking  me 
there.  And  another  thing:  if  the  series  of  catastrophes 
there  did  nothing  else,  it  taught  me  one  thing — that 
somehow,  somewhere,  from  perhaps  a  half -civilized  an- 
cestor who  wore  a  sheepskin  garment  and  trailed  his 
food  or  his  prey,  I  have  in  me  the  instinct  of  the  chase. 
Were  I  a  man  I  should  be  a  trapper  of  criminals, 
trailing  them  as  relentlessly  as  no  doubt  my  sheepskin 
ancestor  did  his  wild  boar.  But  being  an  unmarried 
woman,  with  the  handicap  of  my  sex,  my  first  ac- 
quaintance with  crime  will  probably  be  my  last.  In- 
deed, it  came  near  enough  to  being  my  last  acquaint- 
ance with  anything. 

The  property  was  owned  by  Paul  Armstrong,  the 
president  of  the  Traders'  Bank,  who  at  the  time  we 
took  the  house  was  in  the  west  with  his  wife  and 
daughter,  and  a  Doctor  Walker,  the  Armstrong  fam- 
ily physician.  Halsey  knew  Louise  Armstrong, — had 
been  rather  attentive  to  her  the  winter  before,  but  as 
Halsey  was  always  attentive  to  somebody,  I  had  not 
thought  of  it  seriously,  although  she  was  a  charming 
girl.  'I  knew  of  Mr.  Armstrong  only  through  his 
connection  with  the  bank,  where  the  children's  money 
was  largely  invested,  and  through  an  ugly  story  about 
the  son,  Arnold  Armstrong,  who  was  reported  to  have 
forged  his  father's  name,  for  a  considerable  amount, 
to  some  bank  paper.  However,  the  story  had  had  no 
interest  for  me. 


14      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

I  cleared  Halsey  and  Gertrude  away  to  a  house 
party,  and  moved  out  to  Sunny  side  the  first  of  May. 
The  roads  were  bad,  but  the  trees  were  in  leaf,  and 
there  were  still  tulips  in  the  borders  around  the  house. 
The  arbutus  was  fragrant  in  the  woods  under  the 
dead  leaves,  and  on  the  way  from  the  station,  a  short 
mile,  while  the  car  stuck  in  the  mud,  I  found  a  bank 
showered  with  tiny  forget-me-nots.  The  birds — don't 
ask  me  what  kind;  they  all  look  alike  to  me,  unless 
they  have  a  hall  mark  of  some  bright  color — the  birds 
were  chirping  in  the  hedges,  and  everything  breathed 
of  peace.  Liddy,  who  was  born  and  bred  on  a  brick 
pavement,  got  a  little  bit  down-spirited  when  the 
crickets  began  to  chirp,  or  scrape  their  legs  together, 
or  whatever  it  is  they  do,  at  twilight. 

The  first  night  passed  quietly  enough.  I  have  al- 
ways been  grateful  for  that  one  night's  peace;  it 
shows  what  the  country  might  be,  under  favorable 
circumstances.  Never  after  that  night  did  I  put  my 
head  on  my  pillow  with  any  assurance  how  long  it 
would  be  there;  or  on  my  shoulders,  for  that  matter. 

On  the  following  morning  Liddy  and  Mrs.  Ralston, 
my  own  housekeeper,  had  a  difference  of  opinion,  and 
Mrs.  Ralston  left  on  the  eleven  train.  Just  after 
luncheon,  Burke,  the  butler,  was  taken  unexpectedly 
with  a  pain  in  his  right  side,  much  worse  when  I  was 
•within  hearing  distance,  and  by  afternoon  he  was 
started  cityward.  That  night  the  cook's  sister  had  a 
baby — the  cook,  seeing  indecision  in  my  face,  made  it 
twins  on  second  thought — and,  to  be  short,  by  noon 


I  TAKE  A  COUNTRY  HOUSE      15 

the  next  day  the  household  staff  was  down  to  Liddy 
and  myself.  And  this  in  a  house  with  twenty-two 
rooms  and  five  baths! 

Liddy  wanted  to  go  back  to  the  city  at  once,  but 
the  milk-boy  said  that  Thomas  Johnson,  the  Arm- 
strongs' colored  butler,  was  working  as  a  waiter  at 
the  Greenwood  Club,  and  might  come  back.  I  have 
the  usual  scruples  about  coercing  people's  servants 
away,  but  few  of  us  have  any  conscience  regarding 
institutions  or  corporations — witness  the  way  we  beat 
railroads  and  street-car  companies  when  we  can — so  I 
called  up  the  club,  and  about  eight  o'clock  Thomas 
Johnson  came  to  see  me.  Poor  Thomas! 

Well,  it  ended  by  my  engaging  Thomas  on  the 
spot,  at  outrageous  wages,  and  with  permission  to 
sleep  in  the  gardener's  lodge,  empty  since  the  house 
was  rented.  The  old  man — he  was  white-haired  and  a 
little  stooped,  but  with  an  immense  idea  of  his  personal 
dignity — gave  me  his  reasons  hesitatingly. 

"I  ain't  sayin'  nothin',  Mis'  Innes,"  he  said,  with 
his  hand  on  the  door-knob,  "but  there's  been  goin's-on 
here  this  las'  few  months  as  ain't  natchal.  'Tain't 
one  thing  an'  'tain't  another — it's  jest  a  door  squealin' 
here,  an'  a  winder  closin'  there,  but  when  doors  an' 
winders  gets  to  cuttin'  up  capers  and  there's  nobody 
nigh  'em,  it's  time  Thomas  Johnson  sleeps  somewhar's 
else." 

Liddy,  who  seemed  to  be  never  more  than  ten  feet 
away  from  me  that  night,  and  was  afraid  of  her 
shadow  in  that  great  barn  of  a  place,  screamed  a  little, 


16      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

and  turned  a  yellow-green.  But  I  am  not  easily 
alarmed. 

It  was  entirely  in  vain  I  represented  to  Thomas 
that  we  were  alone,  and  that  he  would  have  to  stay 
in  the  house  that  night  He  was  politely  firm,  but  he 
would  come  over  early  the  next  morning,  and  if  I  gave 
him  a  key,  he  would  come  in  time  to  get  some  sort  of 
breakfast.  I  stood  on  the  huge  veranda  and  watched 
him  shuffle  along  down  the  shadowy  drive,  with  min- 
gled feelings — irritation  at  his  cowardice  and  thank- 
fulness at  getting  him  at  all.  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
say  that  I  double-locked  the  hall  door  when  I  went 
in. 

"You  can  lock  up  the  rest  of  the  house  and  go  to 
bed,  Liddy,"  I  said  severely.  "You  give  me  the  creeps 
standing  there.  A  woman  of  your  age  ought  to  have 
better  sense."  It  usually  braces  Liddy  to  mention  her 
age :  she  owns  to  forty — which  is  absurd.  Her  mother 
cooked  for  my  grandfather,  and  Liddy  must  be  at 
least  as  old  as  I.  But  that  night  she  refused  to  brace. 

"You're  not  going  to  ask  me  to  lock  up,  Miss 
Rachel !"  she  quavered.  "Why,  there's  a  dozen  French 
windows  in  the  drawing-room  and  the  billiard-room 
wing,  and  every  one  opens  on  a  porch.  And  Mary 
Anne  said  that  last  night  there  was  a  man  standing 
by  the  stable  when  she  locked  the  kitchen  door." 

"Mary  Anne  was  a  fool,"  I  said  sternly.  "If  there 
had  been  a  man  there,  she  would  have  had  him  in  the 
kitchen  and  been  feeding  him  what  was  left  from  din- 
ner, inside  of  an  hour,  from  force  of  habit.  Now  don't 


I  TAKE  A  COUNTRY  HOUSE      17 

be  ridiculous.  Lock  up  the  house  and  go  to  bed.  I 
am  going  to  read." 

But  Liddy  set  her  lips  tight  and  stood  still. 

"I'm  not  going  to  bed,"  she  said.  "I  am  going  to 
pack  up,  and  to-morrow  I  am  going  to  leave." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  I  snapped.  Liddy 
and  I  often  desire  to  part  company,  but  never  at  the 
same  time.  "If  you  are  afraid,  I  will  go  with  you, 
but  for  goodness'  sake  don't  try  to  hide  behind  me." 

The  house  was  a  typical  summer  residence  on  an 
extensive  scale.  Wherever  possible,  on  the  first  floor, 
the  architect  had  done  away  with  partitions,  using 
arches  and  columns  instead.  The  effect  was  cool  and 
spacious,  but  scarcely  cozy.  As  Liddy  and  I  went  from 
one  window  to  another,  our  voices  echoed  back  at  us 
uncomfortably.  There  was  plenty  of  light — the  elec- 
tric plant  down  in  the  village  supplied  us — but  there 
were  long  vistas  of  polished  floor,  and  mirrors  which 
reflected  us  from  unexpected  corners,  until  I  felt  some 
of  Liddy's  foolishness  communicate  itself  to  me. 

The  house  was  very  long,  a  rectangle  in  general 
form,  with  the  main  entrance  in  the  center  of  the  long 
side.  The  brick-paved  entry  opened  into  a  short  hall, 
to  the  right  of  which,  separated  only  by  a  row  of  pil- 
lars, was  a  huge  living-room.  Beyond  that  was  the 
drawing-room,  and  in  the  end,  the  billiard-room.  Off 
the  billiard-room,  in  the  extreme  right  wing,  was  a 
den,  or  card-room,  with  a  small  hall  opening  on  the 
east  veranda,  and  from  there  went  up  a  narrow  circu- 
lar staircase.  Halsey  had  pointed  it  out  with  delight. 


18       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"Just  look,  Aunt  Rachel,"  he  said  with  a  flourish. 
"The  architect  that  put  up  this  joint  was  wise  to  a 
few  things.  Arnold  Armstrong  and  his  friends  could 
sit  here  and  play  cards  all  night  and  stumble  up  to 
bed  in  the  early  morning,  without  having  the  family 
send  in  a  police  call." 

Liddy  and  I  got  as  far  as  the  card-room  and  turned 
on  all  the  lights.  I  tried  the  small  entry  door  there, 
which  opened  on  the  veranda,  and  examined  the  win- 
dows. Everything  was  secure,  and  Liddy,  a  little  less 
nervous  now,  had  just  pointed  out  to  me  the  disgrace- 
fully dusty  condition  of  the  hard-wood  floor,  when 
suddenly  the  lights  went  out.  We  waited  a  moment; 
I  think  Liddy  was  stunned  with  fright,  or  she  would 
have  screamed.  And  then  I  clutched  her  by  the  arm 
and  pointed  to  one  of  the  windows  opening  on  the 
porch.  The  sudden  change  threw  the  window  into  re- 
lief, an  oblong  of  grayish  light,  and  showed  us  a 
figure  standing  close,  peering  in.  As  I  looked  it  darted 
across  the  veranda  and  out  of  sight  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  LINK   CUFF-BUTTON 

LIDDY'S  knees  seemed  to  give  away  under  her. 
Without  a  sound  she  sank  down,  leaving  me  star- 
ing at  the  window  in  petrified  amazement.  Liddy 
began  to  moan  under  her  breath,  and  in  my  excitement 
I  reached  down  and  shook  her. 

"Stop  it,"  I  whispered.  "It's  only  a  woman — maybe 
a  maid  of  the  Armstrongs'.  Get  up  and  help  me  find 
the  door."  She  groaned  again.  "Very  well,"  I  said, 
"then  I'll  have  to  leave  you  here.  I'm  going." 

She  moved  at  that,  and,  holding  to  my  sleeve,  we 
felt  our  way,  with  numerous  collisions,  to  the  billiard- 
room,  and  from  there  to  the  drawing-room.  The  lights 
came  on  then,  and,  with  the  long  French  windows 
unshuttered,  I  had  a  creepy  feeling  that  each  one 
sheltered  a  peering  face.  In  fact,  in  the  light  of  what 
happened  afterward,  I  am  pretty  certain  we  were  un- 
der surveillance  during  the  entire  ghostly  evening.  We 
hurried  over  the  rest  of  the  locking-up  and  got  up- 
stairs as  quickly  as  we  could.  I  left  the  lights  all  on, 
and  our  footsteps  echoed  cavernously.  Liddy  had  a 
stiff  neck  the  next  morning,  from  looking  back  over 
her  shoulder,  and  she  refused  to  go  to  bed. 

"Let  me  stay  in  your  dressing-room,  Miss  Rachel," 
she  begged.  "If  you  don't,  I'll  sit  in  the  hall  outside 

19 


20       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

the  door.  I'm  not  going  to  be  murdered  with  my  eyes 
shut." 

"If  you're  going  to  be  murdered,"  I  retorted,  "it 
won't  make  any  difference  whether  they  are  shut  or 
open.  But  you  may  stay  in  the  dressing-room,  if  you 
will  lie  on  the  couch:  when  you  sleep  in  a  chair  you 
snore." 

She  was  too  far  gone  to  be  indignant,  but  after  a 
while  she  came  to  the  door  and  looked  in  to  where  I 
was  composing  myself  for  sleep  with  Drummond's 
Spiritual  Life. 

"That  wasn't  a  woman,  Miss  Rachel,"  she  said, 
with  her  shoes  in  her  hand.  "It  was  a  man  in  a  long 
coat." 

"What  woman  was  a  man?"  I  discouraged  her 
without  looking  up,  and  she  went  back  to  the  couch. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  I  finally  prepared  for. 
bed.  In  spite  of  my  assumption  of  indifference,  I 
locked  the  door  into  the  hall,  and  finding  the  transom 
did  not  catch,  I  put  a  chair  cautiously  before  the  door 
— it  was  not  necessary  to  rouse  Liddy — and  climbing 
up  put  on  the  ledge  of  the  transom  a  small  dressing- 
mirror,  so  that  any  movement  of  the  frame  would  send 
it  crashing  down.  Then,  secure  in  my  precautions,  I 
went  to  bed. 

I  did  not  go  to  sleep  at  once.  Liddy  disturbed  me 
just  as  I  was  growing  drowsy,  by  coming  in  and 
peering  under  the  bed.  She  was  afraid  to  speak,  how- 
ever, because  of  her  previous  snubbing,  and  went  back, 
stopping  in  the  doorway  to  sigh  dismally. 


A  LINK  CUFF-BUTTON  21 

Somewhere  down-stairs  a  clock  with  a  chime  sang 
away  the  hours — eleven-thirty,  forty-five,  twelve.  And 
then  the  lights  went  out  to  stay.  The  Casanova  Elec- 
tric Company  shuts  up  shop  and  goes  home  to  bed 
at  midnight:  when  one  has  a  party,  I  believe  it  is 
customary  to  fee  the  company,  which  will  drink  hot 
coffee  and  keep  awake  a  couple  of  hours  longer.  But 
the  lights  were  gone  for  good  that  night.  Liddy  had 
gone  to  sleep,  as  I  knew  she  would.  She  was  a  very 
unreliable  person:  always  awake  and  ready  to  talk 
when  she  wasn't  wanted  and  dozing  off  to  sleep  when 
she  was.  I  called  her  once  or  twice,  the  only  result 
being  an  explosive  snore  that  threatened  her  very 
windpipe — then  I  got  up  and  lighted  a  bedroom 
candle. 

My  bedroom  and  dressing-room  were  above  the  big 
living-room  on  the  first  floor.  On  the  second  floor  a 
long  corridor  ran  the  length  of  the  house,  with  rooms 
opening  from  both  sides.  In  the  wings  were  small  cor- 
ridors crossing  the  main  one — the  plan  was  simplicity 
itself.  And  just  as  I  got  back  into  bed,  I  heard  a 
sound  from  the  east  wing,  apparently,  that  made  me 
stop,  frozen,  with  one  bedroom  slipper  half  off,  and 
listen.  It  was  a  rattling  metallic  sound,  and  it  re- 
verberated along  the  empty  halls  like  the  crash  of 
doom.  It  was  for  all  the  world  as  if  something  heavy, 
perhaps  a  piece  of  steel,  had  rolled  clattering  and 
jangling  down  the  hard-wood  stairs  leading  to  the 
card-room. 

In  the   silence   that   followed   Liddy   stirred   and 


22       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

snored  again.  I  was  exasperated:  first  she  kept  me 
awake  by  silly  alarms,  then  when  she  was  needed  she 
slept  like  Joe  Jefferson,  or  Rip, — they  are  always  the 
same  to  me.  I  went  in  and  aroused  her,  and  I  give  her 
credit  for  being  wide  awake  the  minute  I  spoke. 

"Get  up,"  I  said,  "if  you  don't  want  to  be  mur- 
dered in  your  bed." 

"Where?  How?"  she  yelled  vociferously,  and 
jumped  up. 

"There's  somebody  in  the  house,"  I  said.  "Get  up. 
We'll  have  to  get  to  the  telephone." 

"Not  out  in  the  hall!"  she  gasped.  "Oh,  Miss 
Rachel,  not  out  in  the  hall!"  trying  to  hold  me  back. 
But  I  am  a  large  woman  and  Liddy  is  small.  We  got 
to  the  door,  somehow,  and  Liddy  held  a  brass  and- 
iron, which  it  was  all  she  could  do  to  lift,  let  alone 
brain  anybody  with.  I  listened,  and,  hearing  nothing, 
opened  the  door  a  little  and  peered  into  the  hall.  It 
was  a  black  void,  full  of  terrible  suggestion,  and  my 
candle  only  emphasized  the  gloom.  Liddy  squealed 
and  drew  me  back  again,  and  as  the  door  slammed,  the 
mirror  I  had  put  on  the  transom  came  down  and  hit 
her  on  the  head.  That  completed  our  demoralization. 
It  was  some  time  before  I  could  persuade  her  she  had 
not  been  attacked  from  behind  by  a  burglar,  and  when 
she  found  the  mirror  smashed  on  the  floor  she  wasn't 
much  better. 

"There's  going  to  be  a  death!"  she  wailed.  "Oh, 
Miss  Rachel,  there's  going  to  be  a  death !" 


A  LINK  CUFF-BUTTON  23 

"There  will  be,"  I  said  grimly,  "if  you  don't  keep 
quiet,  Liddy  Allen." 

And  so  we  sat  there  until  morning,  wondering  if 
the  candle  would  last  until  dawn,  and  arranging  what 
trains  we  could  take  back  to  town.  If  we  had  only 
stuck  to  that  decision  and  gone  back  before  it  was  too 
late! 

The  sun  came  finally,  and  from  my  window  I 
watched  the  trees  along  the  drive  take  shadowy  form, 
gradually  lose  their  ghostlike  appearance,  become 
gray  and  then  green.  The  Greenwood  Club  showed 
itself  a  dab  of  white  against  the  hill  across  the  valley, 
and  an  early  robin  or  two  hopped  around  in  the  dew. 
Not  until  the  milk-boy  and  the  sun  came,  about  the 
same  time,  did  I  dare  to  open  the  door  into  the  hall 
and  look  around.  Everything  was  as  we  had  left  it. 
Trunks  were  heaped  here  and  there,  ready  for  the 
trunk-room,  and  through  an  end  window  of  stained 
glass  came  a  streak  of  red  and  yellow  daylight  that 
was  eminently  cheerful.  The  milk-boy  was  pounding 
somewhere  below,  and  the  day  had  begun. 

Thomas  Johnson  came  ambling  up  the  drive  about 
half-past  six,  and  we  could  hear  him  clattering  around 
on  the  lower  floor,  opening  shutters.  I  had  to  take 
Liddy  to  her  room  up-stairs,  however, — she  was  quite 
sure  she  would  find  something  uncanny.  In  fact,  when 
she  did  not,  having  now  the  courage  of  daylight,  she 
was  actually  disappointed. 

Well,  we  did  not  go  back  to  town  that  day. 


24      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

The  discovery  of  a  small  picture  fallen  from  the 
wall  of  the  drawing-room  was  quite  sufficient  to  satisfy 
Liddy  that  the  alarm  had  been  a  false  one,  but  I  was 
anything  but  convinced.  Allowing  for  my  nerves  and 
the  fact  that  small  noises  magnify  themselves  at  night, 
there  was  still  no  possibility  that  the  picture  had  made 
the  series  of  sounds  I  heard.  To  prove  it,  however,  I 
dropped  it  again.  It  fell  with  a  single  muffled  crash 
of  its  wooden  frame,  and  incidentally  ruined  itself 
beyond  repair.  I  justified  myself  by  reflecting  that 
if  the  Armstrongs  chose  to  leave  pictures  in  unsafe 
positions,  and  to  rent  a  house  with  a  family  ghost,  the 
destruction  of  property  was  their  responsibility,  not 
mine. 

I  warned  Liddy  not  to  mention  what  had  happened 
to  anybody,  and  telephoned  to  town  for  servants. 
Then  after  a  breakfast  which  did  more  credit  to 
Thomas'  heart  than  his  head,  I  went  on  a  short  tour 
of  investigation.  The  sounds  had  come  from  the  east 
wing,  and  not  without  some  qualms  I  began  there.  At 
first  I  found  nothing.  Since  then  I  have  developed  my 
powers  of  observation,  but  at  that  time  I  was  a  novice. 
The  small  card-room  seemed  undisturbed.  I  looked 
for  footprints,  which  is,  I  believe,  the  conventional 
thing  to  do,  although  my  experience  has  been  that  as 
clues  both  footprints  and  thumb-marks  are  more  use- 
ful in  fiction  than  in  fact.  But  the  stairs  in  that  wing 
offered  something. 

At  the  top  of  the  flight  had  been  placed  a  tall 
Dicker  hamper,  packed  with  linen  that  had  come  from 


A  LINK  CUFF-BUTTON  25 

to\vn.  It  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  top  step,  almost 
barring  passage,  and  on  the  step  below  it  was  a  long 
fresh  scratch.  For  three  steps  the  scratch  was  re- 
peated, gradually  diminishing,  as  if  some  object  had 
fallen,  striking  each  one.  Then  for  four  steps  noth- 
ing. On  the  fifth  step  below  was  a  round  dent  in  the 
hard  wood.  That  was  all,  and  it  seemed  little  enough, 
except  that  I  was  positive  the  marks  had  not  been 
there  the  day  before. 

It  bore  out  my  theory  of  the  sound,  which  had  been 
for  all  the  world  like  the  bumping  of  a  metallic  object 
down  a  flight  of  steps.  The  four  steps  had  been 
skipped.  I  reasoned  that  an  iron  bar,  for  instance, 
would  do  something  of  the  sort, — strike  two  or  three 
steps,  end  down,  then  turn  over,  jumping  a  few  stairs, 
and  landing  with  a  thud. 

Iron  bars,  however,  do  not  fall  down-stairs  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  alone.  Coupled  with  the  figure  on 
the  veranda  the  agency  by  which  it  climbed  might  be 
assumed.  But — and  here  was  the  thing  that  puzzled 
me  most — the  doors  were  all  fastened  that  morning, 
the  windows  unmolested,  and  the  particular  door  from 
the  card-room  to  the  veranda  had  a  combination  lock 
of  which  I  held  the  key,  and  which  had  not  been  tam- 
pered with. 

I  fixed  on  an  attempt  at  burglary,  as  the  most  nat- 
ural explanation — an  attempt  frustrated  by  the  fall- 
ing of  the  object,  whatever  it  was,  that  had  roused  me. 
Two  things  I  could  not  understand :  how  the  intruder 
had  escaped  with  everything  locked,  and  why  he  had 


26      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

left  the  small  silver,  which,  in  the  absence  of  a  butler, 
had  remained  down-stairs  over  night. 

Under  pretext  of  learning  more  about  the  place, 
Thomas  Johnson  led  me  through  the  house  and  the 
cellars,  without  result.  Everything  was  in  good  order 
and  repair;  money  had  been  spent  lavishly  on  con- 
struction and  plumbing.  The  house  was  full  of  con- 
veniences, and  I  had  no  reason  to  repent  my  bargain, 
save  the  fact  that,  in  the  nature  of  things,  night  must 
come  again.  And  other  nights  must  follow — and  we 
were  a  long  way  from  a  police-station. 

In  the  afternoon  a  hack  came  up  from  Casanova, 
with  a  fresh  relay  of  servants.  The  driver  took  them 
with  a  flourish  to  the  servants'  entrance,  and  drove 
around  to  the  front  of  the  house,  where  I  was  await- 
ing him. 

"Two  dollars,"  he  said  in  reply  to  my  question.  "I 
don't  charge  full  rates,  because,  bringin'  'em  up  all 
summer  as  I  do,  it  pays  to  make  a  special  price.  When 
they  got  off  the  train,  I  sez,  sez  I,  'There's  another 
bunch  for  Sunnyside,  cook,  parlor  maid  and  all.' 
Yes'm — six  summers,  and  a  new  lot  never  less  than 
once  a  month.  They  won't  stand  for  the  country  and 
the  lonesomeness,  I  reckon." 

But  with  the  presence  of  the  "bunch"  of  servants 
my  courage  revived,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  came 
a  message  from  Gertrude  that  she  and  Halsey  would 
arrive  that  night  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  coming  in 
the  car  from  Richfield.  Things  were  looking  up;  and 
when  Beulah,  my  cat,  a  most  intelligent  animal,  found 


A  LINK  CUFF-BUTTON  27 

some  early  catnip  on  a  bank  near  the  house  and  rolled 
in  it  in  a  feline  ecstasy,  I  decided  that  getting  back  to 
nature  was  the  thing  to  do. 

While  I  was  dressing  for  dinner,  Liddy  rapped  at 
the  door.  She  was  hardly  herself  yet,  but  privately 
I  think  she  was  worrying  about  the  broken  mirror  and 
its  augury,  more  than  anything  else.  When  she  came 
in  she  was  holding  something  in  her  hand,  and  she 
laid  it  on  the  dressing-table  carefully. 

"I  found  it  in  the  linen  hamper,"  she  said.  "It 
must  be  Mr.  Halsey's,  but  it  seems  queer  how  it  got 
there." 

It  was  the  half  of  a  link  cuff-button  of  unique  de- 
sign, and  I  looked  at  it  carefully. 

"Where  was  it?  In  the  bottom  of  the  hamper?"  I 
asked. 

"On  the  very  top,"  she  replied.  "It's  a  mercy  it 
didn't  fall  out  on  the  way." 

When  Liddy  had  gone  I  examined  the  fragment 
attentively.  I  had  never  seen  it  before,  and  I  was  cer- 
tain it  was  not  Halsey's.  It  was  of  Italian  workman- 
ship, and  consisted  of  a  mother-of-pearl  foundation, 
encrusted  with  tiny  seed-pearls,  strung  on  horsehair 
to  hold  them.  In  the  center  was  a  small  ruby.  The 
trinket  was  odd  enough,  but  not  intrinsically  of  great 
value.  Its  interest  for  me  lay  in  this:  Liddy  had 
found  it  lying  in  the  top  of  the  hamper  which  had 
blocked  the  east-wing  stairs. 

That  afternoon  the  Armstrongs'  housekeeper,  a 
youngish  good-looking  woman,  applied  for  Mrs. 


28      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

Ralston's  place,  and  I  was  glad  enough  to  take  her. 
She  looked  as  though  she  might  be  equal  to  a  dozen 
of  Liddy,  with  her  snapping  black  eyes  and  heavy 
jaw.  Her  name  was  Anne  Watson,  and  I  dined  that 
evening  for  the  first  time  in  three  days. 


CHAPTER  III 

MR.    JOHN    BAILEY   APPEARS 

fHAD  dinner  served  in  the  breakfast-room.  Some- 
how the  huge  dining-room  depressed  me,  and 
Thomas,  cheerful  enough  all  day,  allowed  his  spirits 
to  go  down  with  the  sun.  He  had  a  habit  of  watching 
the  corners  of  the  room,  left  shadowy  by  the  candles 
on  the  table,  and  altogether  it  was  not  a  festive  meal. 

Dinner  over  I  went  into  the  living-room.  I  had 
three  hours  before  the  children  could  possibly  arrive, 
and  I  got  out  my  knitting.  I  had  brought  along  two 
dozen  pairs  of  slipper  soles  in  assorted  sizes — I  al- 
ways send  knitted  slippers  to  the  Old  Ladies'  Home 
at  Christmas — and  now  I  sorted  over  the  wools  with 
a  grim  determination  not  to  think  about  the  night  be- 
fore. But  my  mind  was  not  on  my  work :  at  the  end 
of  a  half-hour  I  found  I  had  put  a  row  of  blue  scal- 
lops on  Eliza  Klinefelter's  lavender  slippers,  and  I 
put  them  away. 

I  got  out  the  cuff-link  and  went  with  it  to  the 
pantry.  Thomas  was  wiping  silver  and  the  air  was 
heavy  with  tobacco  smoke.  I  sniffed  and  looked 
around,  but  there  was  no  pipe  to  be  seen. 

"Thomas,"  I  said,  "you  have  been  smoking." 

"No,  ma'm."  He  was  injured  innocence  itself.  "It's 
on  my  coat,  ma'm.  Over  at  the  club  the  gentlemen — " 

29 


30       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

But  Thomas  did  not  finish.  The  pantry  was  sud- 
denly filled  with  the  odor  of  singeing  cloth.  Thomas 
gave  a  clutch  at  his  coat,  whirled  to  the  sink,  filled  a 
tumbler  with  water  and  poured  it  into  his  right  pocket 
with  the  celerity  of  practice. 

"Thomas,"  I  said,  when  he  was  sheepishly  mopping 
the  floor,  "smoking  is  a  filthy  and  injurious  habit.  If 
you  must  smoke,  you  must;  but  don't  stick  a  lighted 
pipe  in  your  pocket  again.  Your  skin's  your  own :  you 
can  blister  it  if  you  like.  But  this  house  is  not  mine, 
and  I  don't  want  a  conflagration.  Did  you  ever  see 
this  cuff-link  before  ?" 

No,  he  never  had,  he  said,  but  he  looked  at  it  oddly. 

"I  picked  it  up  in  the  hall,"  I  added  indifferently. 
The  old  man's  eyes  were  shrewd  under  his  bushy  eye- 
brows. 

"There's  strange  goin's-on  here,  Mis'  Innes,"  he 
said,  shaking  his  head.  "Somethin's  goin'  to  happen, 
sure.  You  ain't  took  notice  that  the  big  clock  in  the 
hall  is  stopped,  I  reckon?" 

"Nonsense,"  I  said.  "Clocks  have  to  stop,  don't 
they,  if  they're  not  wound?" 

"It's  wound  up,  all  right,  and  it  stopped  at  three 
o'clock  last  night,"  he  answered  solemnly.  "More'n 
that,  that  there  clock  ain't  stopped  for  fifteen  years, 
not  since  Mr.  Armstrong's  first  wife  died.  And  that 
ain't  all, — no,  ma'm.  Last  three  nights  I  slep'  in  this 
place,  after  the  electrics  went  out  I  had  a  token.  My 
oil  lamp  was  full  of  oil,  but  it  kep'  goin'  out,  do  what 
I  would.  Minute  I  shet  my  eyes,  out  that  lamp  'd  go.. 


MR.  JOHN  BAILEY  APPEARS      31 

There  ain't  no  surer  token  of  death.  The  Bible  sez, 
'Let  yer  light  shine!  When  a  hand  you  can't  see  puts 
yer  light  out,  it  means  death,  sure." 

The  old  man's  voice  was  full  of  conviction.  In  spite 
of  myself  I  had  a  chilly  sensation  in  the  small  of  my 
back,  and  I  left  him  mumbling  over  his  dishes.  Later 
on  I  heard  a  crash  from  the  pantry,  and  Liddy  re- 
ported that  Beulah,  who  is  coal  black,  had  darted  in 
front  of  Thomas  just  as  he  picked  up  a  tray  of  dishes; 
that  the  bad  omen  had  been  too  much  for  him,  and  he 
had  dropped  the  tray. 

The  chug  of  the  automobile  as  it  climbed  the  hill 
was  the  most  welcome  sound  I  had  heard  for  a  long 
time,  and  with  Gertrude  and  Halsey  actually  before 
me,  my  troubles  seemed  over  for  good.  Gertrude 
stood  smiling  in  the  hall,  with  her  hat  quite  over 
one  ear,  and  her  hair  in  every  direction  under  her 
pink  veil.  Gertrude  is  a  very  pretty  girl,  no  matter 
how  her  hat  is,  and  I  was  not  surprised  when  Halsey 
presented  a  good-looking  young  man,  who  bowed  at 
me  and  looked  at  Trude — that  is  the  ridiculous  nick- 
name Gertrude  brought  from  school. 

"I  have  brought  a  guest,  Aunt  Ray,"  Halsey  said. 
"I  want  you  to  adopt  him  into  your  affections  and 
your  Saturday-to-Monday  list.  Let  me  present  John 
Bailey,  only  you  must  call  him  Jack.  In  twelve  hours 
he'll  be  calling  you  'Aunt' :  I  know  him." 

We  shook  hands,  and  I  got  a  chance  to  look  at  Mr. 
Bailey;  he  was  a  tall  fellow,  perhaps  thirty,  and  he 
wore  a  small  mustache.  I  remember  wondering  why : 


32       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

he  seemed  to  have  a  good  mouth  and  when  he  smiled 
his  teeth  were  above  the  average.  One  never  knows 
why  certain  men  cling  to  a  messy  upper  lip  that  must 
get  into  things,  any  more  than  one  understands  some 
women  building  up  their  hair  on  wire  atrocities. 
Otherwise,  he  was  very  good  to  look  at,  stalwart  and 
tanned,  with  the  direct  gaze  that  I  like.  I  am  particu- 
lar about  Mr.  Bailey,  because  he  was  a  prominent 
figure  in  what  happened  later. 

Gertrude  was  tired  with  the  trip  and  went  up  to 
bed  very  soon.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  tell  them  noth- 
ing until  the  next  day,  and  then  to  make  as  light  of 
our  excitement  as  possible.  After  all,  what  had  I  to 
tell?  An  inquisitive  face  peering  in  at  a  window;  a 
crash  in  the  night;  a  scratch  or  two  on  the  stairs,  and 
half  a  cuff -button!  As  for  Thomas  and  his  forebod- 
ings, it  was  always  my  belief  that  a  negro  is  one  part 
thief,  one  part  pigment,  and  the  rest  superstition. 

It  was  Saturday  night.  The  two  men  went  to  the 
billiard-room,  and  I  could  hear  them  talking  as  I  went 
up-stairs.  It  seemed  that  Halsey  had  stopped  at  the 
Greenwood  Club  for  gasolene  and  found  Jack  Bailey 
there,  with  the  Sunday  golf  crowd.  Mr.  Bailey  had 
not  been  hard  to  persuade — probably  Gertrude  knew 
why — and  they  had  carried  him  off  triumphantly.  I 
roused  Liddy  to  get  them  something  to  eat — Thomas 
was  beyond  reach  in  the  lodge — and  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  her  evident  terror  of  the  kitchen  regions.  Then 
I  went  to  bed.  The  men  were  still  in  the  billiard-room 
yrhen  I  finally  dozed  off,  and  the  last  thing  I  remember 


MR.  JOHN  BAILEY  APPEARS      33 

was  the  howl  of  a  dog  in  front  of  the  house.  It  wailed 
a  crescendo  of  woe  that  trailed  off  hopefully,  only  to 
break  out  afresh  from  a  new  point  of  the  compass. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  was  roused  by  a 
revolver  shot.  The  sound  seemed  to  come  from  just 
outside  my  door.  For  a  moment  I  could  not  move. 
Then — I  heard  Gertrude  stirring  in  her  room,  and 
the  next  moment  she  had  thrown  open  the  connecting 
door.^ 

"Oh,  Aunt  Ray !  Aunt  Ray !"  she  cried  hysterically^ 
"Some  one  has  been  killed,  killed!" 

"Thieves,"  I  said  shortly.  "Thank  goodness,  there 
are  some  men  in  the  house  to-night."  I  was  getting 
into  my  slippers  and  a  bath-robe,  and  Gertrude  with 
shaking  hands  was  lighting  a  lamp.  Then  we  opened 
the  door  into  the  hall,  where,  crowded  on  the  upper 
landing  of  the  stairs,  the  maids,  white-faced  and  trem- 
bling, were  peering  down,  headed  by  Liddy.  I  was 
greeted  by  a  series  of  low  screams  and  questions,  and 
I  tried  to  quiet  them.  Gertrude  had  dropped  on  a 
chair  and  sat  there  limp  and  shivering. 

I  went  at  once  across  the  hall  to  Halsey's  room  and 
knocked;  then  I  pushed  the  door  open.  It  was  empty; 
the  bed  had  not  been  occupied ! 

"He  must  be  in  Mr.  Bailey's  room,"  I  said  ex-- 
citedly,  and  followed  by  Liddy,  we  went  there.  Like 
Halsey's,  it  had  not  been  occupied !  Gertrude  was  on 
her  feet  now,  but  she  leaned  against  the  door  foil 
support. 

"They  have  been  killed!"  she  gasped.     Then  shg 


34       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

caught  me  by  the  arm  and  dragged  me  toward  the 
stairs.  "They  may  only  be  hurt,  and  we  must  find 
them,"  she  said,  her  eyes  dilated  with  excitement. 

I  don't  remember  how  we  got  down  the  stairs :  I  do 
remember  expecting  every  moment  to  be  killed.  The 
cook  was  at  the  telephone  up-stairs,  calling  the  Green- 
wood Club,  and  Liddy  was  behind  me,  afraid  to  come 
and  not  daring  to  stay  behind.  We  found  the  living- 
room  and  the  drawing-room  undisturbed.  Somehow  I 
felt  that  whatever  we  found  would  be  in  the  card-room 
or  on  the  staircase,  and  nothing  but  the  fear  that 
Halsey  was  in  danger  drove  me  on;  with  every  step 
my  knees  seemed  to  give  way  under  me.  Gertrude  was 
ahead  and  in  the  card-room  she  stopped,  holding  her 
candle  high.  Then  she  pointed  silently  to  the  doorway 
into  the  hall  beyond.  Huddled  there  on  the  floor,  face 
down,  with  his  arms  extended,  was  a  man. 

Gertrude  ran  forward  with  a  gasping  sob.  "Jack," 
she  cried,  "oh,  Jack!" 

Liddy  had  run,  screaming,  and  the  two  of  us  were 
there  alone.  It  was  Gertrude  who  turned  him  over, 
finally,  until  we  could  see  his  white  face,  and  then  she 
drew  a  deep  breath  and  dropped  limply  to  her  knees. 
It  was  the  body  of  a  man,  a  gentleman,  in  a  dinner 
coat  and  white  waistcoat,  stained  now  with  blood — the 
body  of  a  man  I  had  never  seen  before. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHERE  IS   HALSEY? 

ERTRUDE  gazed  at  the  face  in  a  kind  of  fascn 
nation.  Then  she  put  out  her  hands  blindly,  and 
I  thought  she  was  going  to  faint. 

"He  has  killed  him!"  she  muttered  almost  inarticu- 
lately; and  at  that,  because  my  nerves  were  going,  I 
gave  her  a  good  shake. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  said  frantically.  There 
was  a  depth  of  grief  and  conviction  in  her  tone  that 
was  worse  than  anything  she  could  have  said.  The 
shake  braced  her,  anyhow,  and  she  seemed  to  pull 
herself  together.  But  not  another  word  would  she 
say :  she  stood  gazing  down  at  that  gruesome  figure 
on  the  floor,  while  Liddy,  ashamed  of  her  flight  and 
afraid  to  come  back  alone,  drove  before  her  three 
terrified  women-servants  into  the  drawing-room,  which 
was  as  near  as  any  of  them  would- venture. 

Once  in  the  drawing-room,  Gertrude  collapsed  and 
went  from  one  fainting  spell  into  another.  I  had  all 
I  could  do  to  keep  Liddy  from  drowning  her  with  cold 
water,  and  the  maids  huddled  in  a  corner,  as  much  use 
as  so  many  sheep.  In  a  short  time,  although  it  seemed 
hours,  a  car  came  rushing  up,  and  Anne  Watson,  who 
had  waited  to  dress,  opened  the  door.  Three  men 
from  the  Greenwood  Club,  in  all  kinds  of  costumes, 
35 


36       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

hurried  in.  I  recognized  a  Mr.  Jarvis,  but  the  others 
were  strangers. 

"What's  wrong?"  the  Jarvis  man  asked — and  we 
made  a  strange  picture,  no  doubt.  "Nobody  hurt,  is 
there?"  He  was  looking  at  Gertrude. 

"Worse  than  that,  Mr.  Jarvis,"  I  said.  "I  think  it 
is  murder." 

At  the  word  there  was  a  commotion.  The  cook  be- 
gan to  cry,  and  Mrs.  Watson  knocked  over  a  chair. 
The  men  were  visibly  impressed. 

"Not  any  member  of  the  family?"  Mr.  Jarvis 
asked,  when  he  had  got  his  breath. 

"No,"  I  said;  and  motioning  Liddy  to  look  after 
Gertrude,  I  led  the  way  with  a  lamp  to  the  card-room 
door.  One  of  the  men  gave  an  exclamation,  and  they 
all  hurried  across  the  room.  Mr.  Jarvis  took  the  lamp 
from  me — I  remember  that — and  then,  feeling  myself 
getting  dizzy  and  light-headed,  I  closed  my  eyes. 
When  I  opened  them  their  brief  examination  was  over, 
and  Mr.  Jarvis  was  trying  to  put  me  in  a  chair. 

"You  must  get  up-stairs,"  he  said  firmly,  "you  and 
'Miss  Gertrude,  too.  This  has  been  a  terrible  shock. 
In  his  own  home,  too." 

I  stared  at  him  without  comprehension.  "Who  is 
it?"  I  asked  with  difficulty.  There  was  a  band  drawn 
tight  around  my  throat. 

"It  is  Arnold  Armstrong,"  he  said,  looking  at  me 
oddly,  "and  he  has  been  murdered — in  his  father's 
fcouse." 


WHERE  IS  HALSEY?  37 

After  a  minute  I  gathered  myself  together  and  Mr. 
Jarvis  helped  me  into  the  living-room.  Liddy  had  got 
Gertrude  up-stairs,  and  the  two  strange  men  from  the 
club  stayed  with  the  body.  The  reaction  from  the 
shock  and  strain  was  tremendous :  I  was  collapsed — > 
and  then  Mr.  Jarvis  asked  me  a  question  that  brought 
back  my  wandering  faculties. 

"Where  is  Halsey?"  he  asked. 

"Halsey!"  Suddenly  Gertrude's  stricken  face  rose 
before  me — the  empty  rooms  up-stairs.  Where  was 
Halsey? 

"He  was  here,  wasn't  he?"  Mr.  Jarvis  persisted, 
"He  stopped  at  the  club  on  his  way  over." 

"I — don't  know  where  he  is,"  I  said  feebly. 

One  of  the  men  from  the  club  came  in,  asked  for 
the  telephone,  and  I  could  hear  him  excitedly  talking, 
saying  something  about  coroners  and  detectives.  Mr. 
Jarvis  leaned  over  to  me. 

"Why  don't  you  trust  me,  Miss  Innes?"  he  said. 
"If  I  can  do  anything  I  will.  But  tell  me  the  whole 
thing." 

I  did,  finally,  from  the  beginning,  and  when  I  told 
of  Jack  Bailey's  being  in  the  house  that  night,  he 
gave  a  long  whistle. 

"I  wish  they  were  both  here,"  he  said  when  I  fin- 
ished. "Whatever  mad  prank  took  them  away,  it 
would  look  better  if  they  were  here.  Especially — " 

"Especially  what?" 

"Especially  since  Jack  Bailey  and  Arnold  Arm- 


88      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

strong  were  notoriously  bad  friends.  It  was  Bailey 
who  got  Arnold  into  trouble  last  spring — something 
about  the  bank.  And  then,  too — " 

"Go  on,"  I  said.  "If  there  is  anything  more,  I 
ought  to  know." 

"There's  nothing  more,"  he  said  evasively.  "There's 
just  one  thing  we  may  bank  on,  Miss  Innes.  Any 
court  in  the  country  will  acquit  a  man  who  kills  an 
intruder  in  his  house,  at  night.  If  Halsey — " 

"Why,  you  don't  think  Halsey  did  it !"  I  exclaimed. 
There  was  a  queer  feeling  of  physical  nausea  coming 
over  me. 

"No,  no,  not  at  all,"  he  said  with  forced  cheerful- 
ness. "Come,  Miss  Innes,  you're  a  ghost  of  yourself, 
and  I  am  going  to  help  you  up-stairs  and  call  your 
maid.  This  has  been  too  much  for  you." 

Liddy  helped  me  back  to  bed,  and  under  the  im- 
pression that  I  was  in  danger  of  freezing  to  death, 
put  a  hot-water  bottle  over  my  heart  and  another  at 
my  feet.  Then  she  left  me.  It  was  early  dawn 
now,  and  from  voices  under  my  window  I  surmised 
that  Mr.  Jarvis  and  his  companions  were  searching 
the  grounds.  As  for  me,  I  lay  in  bed,  with  every 
faculty  awake.  Where  had  Halsey  gone?  How  had 
he  gone,  and  when?  Before  the  murder,  no  doubt,  but 
who  would  believe  that?  If  either  he  or  Jack  Bailey 
had  heard  an  intruder  in  the  house  and  shot  him — as 
they  might  have  been  justified  in  doing — why  had 
they  run  away?  The  whole  thing  was  unheard  of, 
outrageous,  and — impossible  to  ignore. 


WHERE  IS  HALSEY?  39 

About  six  o'clock  Gertrude  came  in.  She  was  fully 
dressed,  and  I  sat  up  nervously. 

"Poor  Aunty!"  she  said.  "What  a  shocking  night 
you  have  had !"  She  came  over  and  sat  down  on  the 
bed,  and  I  saw  she  looked  very  tired  and  worn. 

"Is  there  anything  new?"  I  asked  anxiously. 

"Nothing.  The  car  is  gone,  but  Warner" — he  is 
the  chauffeur — "Warner  is  at  the  lodge  and  knows 
nothing  about  it." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "if  I  ever  get  my  hands  on  Halsey 
Innes,  I  shall  not  let  go  until  I  have  told  him  a  few 
things.  When  we  get  this  cleared  up,  I  am  going  back 
to  the  city  to  be  quiet.  One  more  night  like  the  last 
two  will  end  me.  The  peace  of  the  country — fiddle- 
sticks!" 

Whereupon  I  told  Gertrude  of  the  noises  the  night 
before,  and  the  figure  on  the  veranda  in  the  east  wing. 
As  an  afterthought  I  brought  out  the  pearl  cuff-link. 

"I  have  no  doubt  now,"  I  said,  "that  it  was  Arnold 
Armstrong  the  night  before  last,  too.  He  had  a  key, 
no  doubt,  but  why  he  should  steal  into  his  father's 
house  I  can  not  imagine.  He  could  have  come  with  my 
permission,  easily  enough.  Anyhow,  whoever  it  was 
that  night,  left  this  little  souvenir." 

Gertrude  took  one  look  at  the  cuff-link,  and  went  as 
white  as  the  pearls  in  it;  she  clutched  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  and  stood  staring.  As  for  me,  I  was  quite 
as  astonished  as  she  was. 

"Where  did — you — find  it?"  she  asked  finally,  with 
a  desperate  effort  at  calm.  And  while  I  told  her  she 


40      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

stood  looking  out  of  the  window  with  a  look  I  could 
not  fathom  on  her  face.  It  was  a  relief  when  Mrs. 
Watson  tapped  at  the  door  and  brought  me  some  tea 
and  toast.  The  cook  was  in  bed,  completely  demor- 
alized, she  reported,  and  Liddy,  brave  with  the  day- 
light, was  looking  for  footprints  around  the  house. 
Mrs.  Watson  herself  was  a  wreck ;  she  was  blue-white 
around  the  lips,  and  she  had  one  hand  tied  up.  She 
said  she  had  fallen  down-stairs  in  her  excitement.  It 
was  natural,  of  course,  that  the  thing  would  shock  her, 
having  been  the  Armstrongs'  housekeeper  for  several 
years,  and  knowing  Mr.  Arnold  well. 

Gertrude  had  slipped  out  during  my  talk  with  Mrs. 
[Watson,  and  I  dressed  and  went  down-stairs.  The 
billiard  and  card-rooms  were  locked  until  the  coroner 
and  the  detectives  got  there,  and  the  men  from  the 
club  had  gone  back  for  more  conventional  clothing. 

I  could  hear  Thomas  in  the  pantry,  alternately 
•wailing  for  Mr.  Arnold,  as  he  called  him,  and  citing 
the  tokens  that  had  precursed  the  murder.  The  house 
seemed  to  choke  me,  and,  slipping  a  shawl  around  me, 
I  went  out  on  the  drive.  At  the  corner  by  the  east  wing 
I  met  Liddy.  Her  skirts  were  draggled  with  dew  to 
her  knees,  and'  her  hair  was  still  in  crimps. 

"Go  right  in  and  change,  your  clothes,"  I  said 
sharply.  "You're  a  sight,  and  at  your  age!" 

She  had  a  golf -stick  in  her  hand,  and  she  said  she 
had  found  it  on  the  lawn.  There  was  nothing  unusual 
about  it,  but  it  occurred  to  me  that  a  golf-stick  with 
a  metal  end  might  have  been  the  object  that  had 


WHERE  IS  HALSEY? 41 

scratched  the  stairs  near  the  card-room.  I  took  it  from 
her,  and  sent  her  up  for  dry  garments.  Her  daylight 
courage  and  self-importance,  and  her  shuddering  de- 
light in  the  mystery,  irritated  me  beyond  words.  After 
I  left  her  I  made  a  circuit  of  the  building.  Nothing 
seemed  to  be  disturbed :  the  house  looked  as  calm  and 
peaceful  in  the  morning  sun  as  it  had  the  day  I  had 
been  coerced  into  taking  it.  There  was  nothing  to 
show  that  inside  had  been  mystery  and  violence  and 
sudden  death. 

In  one  of  the  tulip  beds  back  of  the  house  an  early 
blackbird  was  pecking  viciously  at  something  that 
glittered  in  the  light.  I  picked  my  way  gingerly  over 
through  the  dew  and  stooped  down :  almost  buried  in 
the  soft  ground  was  a  revolver!  I  scraped  the  earth 
off  it  with  the  tip  of  my  shoe,  and,  picking  it  up, 
slipped  it  into  my  pocket.  Not  until  I  had  got  into  my 
bedroom  and  double-locked  the  door  did  I  venture  to 
take  it  out  and  examine  it.  One  look  was  all  I  needed. 
It  was  Halsey's  revolver.  I  had  unpacked  it  the  day 
before  and  put  it  on  his  shaving-stand,  and  there 
could  be  no  mistake.  His  name  was  on  a  small  silver 
plate  on  the  handle. 

I  seemed  to  see  a  network  closing  around  my  boy, 
innocent  as  I  knew  he  was.  The  revolver — I  am  afraid 
of  them,  but  anxiety  gave  me  courage  to  look  through 
the  barrel — the  revolver  had  still  two  bullets  in  it.  I 
could  only  breathe  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  that  I 
had  found  the  revolver  before  any  sharp-eyed  detec- 
tive had  come  around. 


42       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

I  decided  to  keep  what  clues  I  had,  the  cuff-link,  the 
golf-stick  and  the  revolver,  in  a  secure  place  until  I 
could  see  some  reason  for  displaying  them.  The  cuff- 
link had  been  dropped  into  a  little  filigree  box  on  my 
toilet  table.  I  opened  the  box  and  felt  around  for  it. 
The  box  was  empty — the  cuff-link  had  disappeared! 


CHAPTER  V 
GERTRUDE'S  ENGAGEMENT 

AT  ten  o'clock  the  Casanova  hack  brought  up  three 
men.  They  introduced  themselves  as  the  coroner 
of  the  county  and  two  detectives  from  the  city.  The 
coroner  led  the  way  at  once  to  the  locked  wing,  and 
with  the  aid  of  one  of  the  detectives  examined  the 
rooms  and  the  body.  The  other  detective,  after  a 
short  scrutiny  of  the  dead  man,  busied  himself  with 
the  outside  of  the  house.  It  was  only  after  they  had 
got  a  fair  idea  of  things  as  they  were  that  they  sent 
for  me. 

I  received  them  in  the  living-room,  and  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  exactly  what  to  tell.  I  had  taken  the 
house  for  the  summer,  I  said,  while  the  Armstrongs 
were  in  California.  In  spite  of  a  rumor  among  the 
servants  about  strange  noises — I  cited  Thomas — 
nothing  had  occurred  the  first  two  nights.  On  the 
third  night  I  believed  that  some  one  had  been  in  the 
house :  I  had  heard  a  crashing  sound,  but  being  alone 
with  one  maid  had  not  investigated.  The  house  had 
been  locked  in  the  morning  and  apparently  undis- 
turbed. 

Then,  as  clearly  as  I  could,  I  related  how,  the  night 
before,  a  shot  had  roused  us ;  that  my  niece  and  I  had 
investigated  and  found  a  body;  that  I  did  not  know 

43 


44      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

who  the  murdered  man  was  until  Mr.  Jarvis  from  the 
club  informed  me,  and  that  I  knew  of  no  reason  why 
Mr.  Arnold  Armstrong  should  steal  into  his  father's 
house  at  night.  I  should  have  been  glad  to  allow  him 
entree  there  at  any  time. 

"Have  you  reason  to  believe,  Miss  Innes,"  the  cor- 
oner asked,  "that  any  member  of  your  household, 
imagining  Mr.  Armstrong  was  a  burglar,  shot  him  in 
self-defense?" 

"I  have  no  reason  for  thinking  so,"  I  said  quietly. 

"Your  theory  is  that  Mr.  Armstrong  was  followed 
here  by  some  enemy,  and  shot  as  he  entered  the 
house  ?" 

"I  don't  think  I  have  a  theory,"  I  said.  "The  thing 
that  has  puzzled  me  is  why  Mr.  Armstrong  should 
enter  his  father's  house  two  nights  in  succession, 
stealing  in  like  a  thief,  when  he  needed  only  to  ask 
entrance  to  be  admitted." 

The  coroner  was  a  very  silent  man:  he  took  some 
notes  after  this,  but  he  seemed  anxious  to  make  the 
next  train  back  to  town.  He  set  the  inquest  for  the 
following  Saturday,  gave  Mr.  Jamieson,  the  younger 
of  the  two  detectives,  and  the  more  intelligent  looking, 
a  few  instructions,  and,  after  gravely  shaking  hands 
with  me  and  regretting  the  unfortunate  affair,  took 
his  departure,  accompanied  by  the  other  detective. 

I  was  just  beginning  to  breathe  freely  when  Mr. 
Jamieson,  who  had  been  standing  by  the  window,  came 
over  to  me. 


GERTRUDE'S  ENGAGEMENT   45 

"The  family  consists  of  yourself  alone,  Miss 
Lines?" 

"My  niece  is  here,"  I  said. 

"There  is  no  one  but  yourself  and  your  niece?" 

"My  nephew."     I  had  to  moisten  my  lips. 

"Oh,  a  nephew.  I  should  like  to  see  him,  if  he  is 
here." 

"He  is  not  here  just  now,"  I  said  as  quietly  as  I 
could.  "I  expect  him — at  any  time." 

"He  was  here  yesterday  evening,  I  believe?" 

"No — yes." 

"Didn't  he  have  a  guest  with  him ?     Another  man?" 

"He  brought  a  friend  with  him  to  stay  over  Sunday, 
a  Mr.  Bailey." 

"Mr.  John  Bailey,  the  cashier  of  the  Traders'  Bank, 
I  believe."  And  I  knew  that  some  one  at  the  Green- 
wood Club  had  told.  "When  did  they  leave  ?" 

"Very  early — I  don't  know  at  just  what  time." 

Mr.  Jamieson  turned  suddenly  and  looked  at  me. 

"Please  try  to  be  more  explicit,"  he  said.  "You  say 
your  nephew  and  Mr.  Bailey  were  in  the  house  last 
night,  and  yet  you  and  your  niece,  with  some  women- 
servants,  found  the  body.  Where  was  your  nephew  ?" 

I  was  entirely  desperate  by  that  time. 

"I  do  not  know,"  I  cried,  "but  be  sure  of  this : 
Halsey  knows  nothing  of  this  thing,  and  no  amount  of 
circumstantial  evidence  can  make  an  innocent  man 
guilty." 

"Sit  down,"   he   said,   pushing   forward  a  chair. 


46      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"There  are  some  things  I  have  to  tell  you,  and,  in  re- 
turn, please  tell  me  all  you  know.  Believe  me,  things 
always  come  out.  In  the  first  place,  Mr.  Armstrong 
was  shot  from  above.  The  bullet  was  fired  at  close 
range,  entered  below  the  shoulder  and  came  out, 
after  passing  through  the  heart,  well  down  the  back. 
In  other  words,  I  believe  the  murderer  stood  on  the 
stairs  and  fired  down.  In  the  second  place,  I  found  on 
the  edge  of  the  billiard-table  a  charred  cigar  which 
had  burned  itself  partly  out,  and  a  cigarette  which 
had  consumed  itself  to  the  cork  tip.  Neither  one  had 
been  more  than  lighted,  then  put  down  and  forgotten. 
Have  you  any  idea  what  it  was  that  made  your  nephew 
and  Mr.  Bailey  leave  their  cigars  and  their  game,  take 
out  the  automobile  without  calling  the  chauffeur,  and 
all  this  at — let  me  see — certainly  before  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  said;  "but  depend  on  it,  Mr. 
Jamieson,  Halsey  will  be  back  himself  to  explain 
everything." 

"I  sincerely  hope  so,"  he  said.  "Miss  Innes,  has  it 
occurred  to  you  that  Mr.  Bailey  might  know  some- 
thing of  this?" 

Gertrude  had  come  down-stairs  and  just  as  he  spoke 
she  came  in.  I  saw  her  stop  suddenly,  as  if  she  had 
been  struck. 

"He  does  not,"  she  said  in  a  tone  that  was  not  her 
own.  "Mr.  Bailey  and  my  brother  know  nothing  of 
this.  The  murder  was  committed  at  three.  They  left 
the  house  at  a  quarter  before  three." 


GERTRUDE'S  ENGAGEMENT  47 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  Mr.  Jamieson  asked 
oddly.  "Do  you  know  at  what  time  they  left?" 

"I  do,"  Gertrude  answered  firmly.  "At  a  quarter 
before  three  my  brother  and  Mr.  Bailey  left  the  house, 
by  the  main  entrance.  I — was — there." 

"Gertrude,"  I  said  excitedly,  "you  are  dreaming! 
Why,  at  a  quarter  to  three — " 

"Listen,"  she  said.  "At  half-past  two  the  down- 
stairs telephone  rang.  I  had  not  gone  to  sleep,  and  I 
heard  it.  Then  I  heard  Halsey  answer  it,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  he  came  up-stairs  and  knocked  at  my  door. 
We — we  talked  for  a  minute,  then  I  put  on  my  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers,  and  went  down-stairs  with  him. 
Mr.  Bailey  was  in  the  billiard-room.  We — we  all 
talked  together  for  perhaps  ten  minutes.  Then  it  was 
decided  that — that  they  should  both  go  away — " 

"Can't  you  be  more  explicit  ?"  Mr.  Jamieson  asked. 
"Why  did  they  go  away?" 

"I  am  only  telling  you  what  happened,  not  why  it 
happened,"  she  said  evenly.  "Halsey  went  for  the  car, 
and  instead  of  bringing  it  to  the  house  and  rousing 
people,  he  went  by  the  lower  road  from  the  stable.  Mr. 
Bailey  was  to  meet  him  at  the  foot  of  the  lawn.  Mr. 
Bailey  left—" 

"Which  way?"  Mr.  Jamieson  asked  sharply. 

"By  the  main  entrance.  He  left — it  was  a  quarter 
to  three.  I  know  exactly." 

"The  clock  in  the  hall  is  stopped,  Miss  Innes,"  said 
Jamieson.  Nothing  seemed  to  escape  him. 

"He  looked  at  his  watch,"  she  replied,  and  I  could 


48      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

see  Mr.  Jamieson's  eyes  snap,  as  if  he  had  made  a  dis- 
covery. As  for  myself,  during  the  whole  recital  I  had 
been  plunged  into  the  deepest  amazement. 

"Will  you  pardon  me  for  a  personal  question?" 
The  detective  was  a  youngish  man,  and  I  thought  he 
was  somewhat  embarrassed.  "What  are  your — your 
relations  with  Mr.  Bailey?" 

Gertrude  hesitated.  Then  she  came  over  and  put 
her  hand  lovingly  in  mine. 

"I  am  engaged  to  marry  him,"  she  said  simply. 

I  had  grown  so  accustomed  to  surprises  that  I  could 
only  gasp  again,  and  as  for  Gertrude,  the  hand  that 
lay  in  mine  was  burning  with  fever. 

"And — after  that,"  Mr.  Jamieson  went  on,  "you 
went  directly  to  bed?" 

Gertrude  hesitated. 

"No,"  she  said  finally.  "I — I  am  not  nervous,  and 
after  I  had  extinguished  the  light,  I  remembered 
something  I  had  left  in  the  billiard-room,  and  I  felt 
my  way  back  there  through  the  darkness." 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  it  was  you  had  forgotten?" 

"I  can  not  tell  you,"  she  said  slowly.  "I — I  did  not 
leave  the  billiard-room  at  once — " 

"Why?"  The  detective's  tone  was  imperative. 
"This  is  very  important,  Miss  Innes." 

"I  was  crying,"  Gertrude  said  in  a  low  tone. 
"WThen  the  French  clock  in  the  drawing-room  struck 
three,  I  got  up,  and  then — I  heard  a  step  on  the  east 
porch,  just  outside  the  card-room.  Some  one  with  a 
key  was  working  with  the  latch,  and  I  thought,  of 


GERTRUDE'S  ENGAGEMENT  49 

course,  of  Halsey.  When  we  took  the  house  he  called 
that  his  entrance,  and  he  had  carried  a  key  for  it  ever 
since.  The  door  opened  and  I  was  about  to  ask  what 
he  had  forgotten,  when  there  was  a  flash  and  a  report. 
Some  heavy  body  dropped,  and,  half  crazed  with  ter- 
ror and  shock,  I  ran  through  the  drawing-room  and 
got  up-stairs — I  scarcely  remember  how." 

She  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  I  thought  Mr.  Jamie- 
son  must  have  finished.  But  he  was  not  through. 

"You  certainly  clear  your  brother  and  Mr.  Bailey 
admirably,"  he  said.  "The  testimony  is  invaluable, 
especially  in  view  of  the  fact  that  your  brother  and 
Mr.  Armstrong  had,  I  believe,  quarreled  rather  seri- 
ously some  time  ago." 

"Nonsense,"  I  broke  in.  "Things  are  bad  enough, 
Mr.  Jamieson,  without  inventing  bad  feeling  where  it 
doesn't  exist.  Gertrude,  I  don't  think  Halsey  knew 
the — the  murdered  man,  did  he?" 

But  Mr.  Jamieson  was  sure  of  his  ground. 

"The  quarrel,  I  believe,"  he  persisted,  "was  about 
Mr.  Armstrong's  conduct  to  you,  Miss  Gertrude.  He 
had  been  paying  you  unwelcome  attentions." 

And  I  had  never  seen  the  man! 

When  she  nodded  a  "yes"  I  saw  the  tremendous 
possibilities  involved.  If  this  detective  could  prove 
that  Gertrude  feared  and  disliked  the  murdered  man, 
and  that  Mr.  Armstrong  had  been  annoying  and  pos- 
sibly pursuing  her  with  hateful  attentions,  all  that, 
added  to  Gertrude's  confession  of  her  presence  in  the 
billiard-room  at  the  time  of  the  crime,  looked  strange, 


50       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

to  say  the  least  The  prominence  of  the  family  assured 
a  strenuous  effort  to  find  the  murderer,  and  if  we  had 
nothing  worse  to  look  forward  to,  we  were  sure  of  a 
distasteful  publicity. 

Mr.  Jamieson  shut  his  note-book  with  a  snap,  and 
thanked  us. 

"I  have  an  idea,"  he  said,  apropos  of  nothing  at  all, 
"that  at  any  rate  the  ghost  is  laid  here.  Whatever  the 
rappings  have  been — and  the  colored  man  says  they 
began  when  the  family  went  west  three  months  ago — 
they  are  likely  to  stop  now." 

Which  shows  how  much  he  knew  about  it.  The 
ghost  was  not  laid :  with  the  murder  of  Arnold  Arm- 
strong he,  or  it,  only  seemed  to  take  on  fresh  vigor. 

Mr.  Jamieson  left  then,  and  when  Gertrude  had 
gone  up-stairs,  as  she  did  at  once,  I  sat  and  thought 
over  what  I  had  just  heard.  Her  engagement,  once  so 
engrossing  a  matter,  paled  now  beside  the  significance 
of  her  story.  If  Halsey  and  Jack  Bailey  had  left  be- 
fore the  crime,  how  came  Halsey's  revolver  in  the 
tulip  bed?  What  was  the  mysterious  cause  of  their 
sudden  flight  ?  What  had  Gertrude  left  in  the  billiard- 
room  ?  What  was  ihe  .significance  of  the  cuff-link,  and 
where  was  it? 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN    THE   EAST    CORRIDOR 

WHEN  the  detective  left  he  enjoined  absolute 
secrecy  on  everybody  in  the  household.  The 
Greenwood  Club  promised  the  same  thing,  and  as  there 
are  no  Sunday  afternoon  papers,  the  murder  was 
not  publicly  known  until  Monday.  The  coroner  him- 
self notified  the  Armstrong  family  lawyer,  and  early 
in  the  afternoon  he  came  out.  I  had  not  seen  Mr. 
Jamieson  since  morning,  but  I  knew  he  had  been  in- 
terrogating the  servants.  Gertrude  was  locked  in  her 
room  with  a  headache,  and  I  had  luncheon  alone. 

Mr.  Harton,  the  lawyer,  was  a  little,  thin  man,  and 
he  looked  as  if  he  did  not  relish  his  business  that  day. 

"This  is  very  unfortunate,  Miss  Innes,"  he  said, 
after  we  had  shaken  hands.  "Most  unfortunate — and 
mysterious.  With  the  father  and  mother  in  the  west, 
I  find  everything  devolves  on  me ;  and,  as  you  can  un- 
derstand, it  is  an  unpleasant  duty." 

"No  doubt,"  I  said  absently.  "Mr.  Harton,  I  am 
going  to  ask  you  some  questions,  and  I  hope  you  will 
answer  them.  I  feel  that  I  am  entitled  to  some  knowl- 
edge, because  I  and  my  family  are  just  now  in  a  most 
ambiguous  position." 

I  don't  know  whether  he  understood  me  or  not:  he 
took  off  his  glasses  and  wiped  them. 
51 


52      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"I  shall  be  very  happy,"  he  said  with  old-fashioned 
courtesy. 

"Thank-  you.  Mr.  Harton,  did  Mr.  Arnold  Arm- 
strong know  that  Sunnyside  had  been  rented  ?" 

"I  think — yes,  he  did.  In  fact,  I  myself  told  him 
about  it." 

"And  he  knew  who  the  tenants  were?" 

"Yes." 

"He  had  not  been  living  with  the  family  for  some 
years,  I  believe?" 

"No.  Unfortunately,  there  had  been  trouble  be- 
tween Arnold  and  his  father.  For  two  years  he  had 
lived  in  town." 

"Then  it  would  be  unlikely  that  he  came  here  last 
night  to  get  possession  of  anything  belonging  to 
him?" 

"I  should  think  it  hardly  possible,"  he  admitted. 
"To  be  perfectly  frank,  Miss  Innes,  I  can  not  think 
of  any  reason  whatever  for  his  coming  here  as  he  did. 
He  had  been  staying  at  the  club-house  across  the 
valley  for  the  last  week,  Jarvis  tells  me,  but  that  only 
explains  how  he  came  here,  not  why.  It  is  a  most 
unfortunate  family." 

He  shook  his  head  despondently,  and  I  felt  that  this 
dried-up  little  man  was  the  repository  of  much  that  he 
had  not  told  me.  I  gave  up  trying  to  elicit  any  infor- 
mation from  him,  and  we  went  together  to  view  the 
body  before  it  was  taken  to  the  city.  It  had  been 
lifted  on  to  the  billiard-table  and  a  sheet  thrown  over 
it;  otherwise  nothing  had  been  touched.  A  soft  hat 


IN  THE  EAST  CORRIDOR         53 

lay  beside  it,  and  the  collar  of  the  dinner-coat  was  still 
turned  up.  The  handsome,  dissipated  face  of  Arnold 
Armstrong,  purged  of  its  ugly  lines,  was  now  only 
pathetic.  As  we  went  in  Mrs.  Watson  appeared  at  the 
card-room  door. 

"Come  in,  Mrs.  Watson,"  the  lawyer  said.  But 
she  shook  her  head  and  withdrew :  she  was  the 
only  one  in  the  house  who  seemed  to  regret  the 
dead  man,  and  even  she  seemed  rather  shocked  than 
sorry. 

I  went  to  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the  circular  stair- 
case and  opened  it.  If  I  could  only  have  seen  Halsey 
coming  at  his  usual  hare-brained  clip  up  the  drive,  if 
I  could  have  heard  the  throb  of  the  motor,  I  would 
have  felt  that  my  troubles  were  over.  But  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen.  The  countryside  lay  sunny  and 
quiet  in  its  peaceful  Sunday  afternoon  calm,  and  far 
down  the  drive  Mr.  Jamieson  was  walking  slowly, 
stooping  now  and  then,  as  if  to  examine  the  road. 
When  I  went  back,  Mr.  Harton  was  furtively  wiping 
his  eyes. 

"The  prodigal  has  come  home,  Miss  Innes,"  he  said. 
"How  often  the  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited  on  the 
children!"  Which  left  me  pondering. 

Before  Mr.  Harton  left,  he  told  me  something  of 
the  Armstrong  family.  Paul  Armstrong,  the  father, 
had  been  married  twice.  Arnold  was  a  son  by  the  first 
marriage.  The  second  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  been  a 
widow,  with  a  child,  a  little  girl.  This  child,  now 
perhaps  twenty,  was  Louise  Armstrong,  having  taken 


54      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

her  stepfather's  name,  and  was  at  present  in  California 
with  the  family. 

"They  will  probably  return  at  once,"  he  concluded, 
"and  part  of  my  errand  here  to-day  is  to  see  if  you 
will  relinquish  your  lease  here  in  their  favor." 

"We  would  better  wait  and  see  if  they  wish  to 
come,"  I  said.  "It  seems  unlikely,  and  my  town  house 
is  being  remodeled."  At  that  he  let  the  matter  drop, 
but  it  came  up  unpleasantly  enough,  later. 

At  six  o'clock  the  body  was  taken  away,  and  at 
seven-thirty,  after  an  early  dinner,  Mr.  Harton  went. 
Gertrude  had  not  come  down,  and  there  was  no  news 
of  Halsey.  Mr.  Jamieson  had  taken  a  lodging  in  the 
village,  and  I  had  not  seen  him  since  mid-afternoon. 
It  was  about  nine  o'clock,  I  think,  when  the  bell  rang 
and  he  was  ushered  into  the  living-room. 

"Sit  down,"  I  said  grimly.  "Have  you  found  a  clue 
that  will  incriminate  me,  Mr.  Jamieson?" 

He  had  the  grace  to  look  uncomfortable.  "No,"  he 
said.  "If  you  had  killed  Mr.  Armstrong,  you  would 
have  left  no  clues.  You  would  have  had  too  much 
intelligence." 

After  that  we  got  along  better.  He  was  fishing  in 
his  pocket,  and  after  a  minute  he  brought  out  two 
scraps  of  paper.  "I  have  been  to  the  club-house,"  he 
said,  "and  among  Mr.  Armstrong's  effects,  I  found 
these.  One  is  curious;  the  other  is  puzzling." 

The  first  was  a  sheet  of  club  note-paper,  on  which 
was  written,  over  and  over,  the  name  "Halsey  B. 
Innes."  It  was  Halsey's  flowing  signature  to  a  dot, 


IN  THE  EAST  CORRIDOR         55 

but  it  lacked  Halsey's  ease.  The  ones  toward  the  bot- 
tom of  the  sheet  were  much  better  than  the  top  ones. 
Mr.  Jamieson  smiled  at  my  face. 

"His  old  tricks,"  he  said.  "That  one  is  merely 
curious;  this  one,  as  I  said  before,  is  puzzling." 

The  second  scrap,  folded  and  refolded  into  a  com- 
pass so  tiny  that  the  writing  had  been  partly  oblit- 
erated, was  part  of  a  letter — the  lower  half  of  a  sheet,, 
not  typed,  but  written  in  a  cramped  hand. 


" by  altering  the   plans   for rooms,   may   be   possi- 
ble.    The  best  way,  in  my  opinion,  would  be  to the  plan 

for — in  one  of  the rooms chimney." 

That  was  all. 

"Well  ?"  I  said,  looking  up.  "There  is  nothing  in 
that,  is  there  ?  A  man  ought  to  be  able  to  change  the 
plan  of  his  house  without  becoming  an  object  of  sus- 
picion." 

"There  is  little  in  the  paper  itself,"  he  admitted; 
"but  why  should  Arnold  Armstrong  carry  that 
around,  unless  it  meant  something?  He  never  built  a 
house,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  If  it  is  this  house, 
it  may  mean  anything,  from  a  secret  room — " 

"To  an  extra  bath-room,"  I  said  scornfully. 
"Haven't  you  a  thumb-print,  too?" 

"I  have,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "and  the  print  of  a 
foot  in  a  tulip  bed,  and  a  number  of  other  things.  The 
oddest  part  is,  Miss  Innes,  that  the  thumb-mark  is 
probably  yours  and  the  footprint  certainly." 

His  audacity  was  the  only  thing  that  saved  me :  his 


56      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

amused  smile  put  me  on  my  mettle,  and  I  ripped  out 
a  perfectly  good  scallop  before  I  answered. 

"Why  did  I  step  into  the  tulip  bed?"  I  asked  with 
interest. 

"You  picked  up  something,"  he  said  good- 
humoredly,  "which  you  are  going  to  tell  me  about 
later." 

"Am  I,  indeed?"  I  was  politely  curious.  "With 
this  remarkable  insight  of  yours,  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me  where  I  shall  find  my  four-thousand-dollar  motor- 
car." 

"I  was  just  coming  to  that,"  he  said.  "You  will 
find  it  about  thirty  miles  away,  at  Andrews  Station, 
in  a  blacksmith  shop,  where  it  is  being  repaired." 

I  laid  down  my  knitting  then  and  looked  at  him. 

"And  Halsey?"  I  managed  to  say. 

"We  are  going  to  exchange  information,"  he  said. 
"I  am  going  to  tell  you  that,  when  you  tell  me  what 
you  picked  up  in  the  tulip  bed." 

We  looked  steadily  at  each  other :  it  was  not  an 
unfriendly  stare;  we  were  only  measuring  weapons. 
Then  he  smiled  a  little  and  got  up. 

"With  your  permission,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  to 
examine  the  card-room  and  the  staircase  again.  You 
might  think  over  my  offer  in  the  meantime." 

He  went  on  through  the  drawing-room,  and  I  lis- 
tened to  his  footsteps  growing  gradually  fainter.  I 
dropped  my  pretense  at  knitting  and,  leaning  back,  I 
thought  over  the  last  forty-eight  hours.  Here  was  I, 
Rachel  Innes,  a  spinster,  a  granddaughter  of  old  John 


IN  THE  EAST  CORRIDOR         57 

Innes  of  Revolutionary  days,  a  D.  A.  R.,  a  Colonial 
Dame,  mixed  up  with  a  vulgar  and  revolting  crime, 
and  even  attempting  to  hoodwink  the  law !  Certainly 
I  had  left  the  straight  and  narrow  way. 

I  was  roused  by  hearing  Mr.  Jamieson  coming  rap- 
idly back  through  the  drawing-room.  He  stopped  at 
the  door. 

"Miss  Innes,"  he  said  quickly,  "will  you  come  with 
me  and  light  the  east  corridor  ?  I  have  fastened  some- 
body in  the  small  room  at  the  head  of  the  card-room 
stairs." 

I  jumped  up  at  once. 

"You  mean — the  murderer?"  I  gasped. 

"Possibly,"  he  said  quietly,  as  we  hurried  together 
up  the  stairs.  "Some  one  was  lurking  on  the  staircase 
when  I  went  back.  I  spoke;  instead  of  an  answer, 
whoever  it  was  turned  and  ran  up.  I  followed — it  was 
dark — but  as  I  turned  the  corner  at  the  top  a  figure 
darted  through  this  door  and  closed  it.  The  bolt  was 
on  my  side,  and  I  pushed  it  forward.  It  is  a  closet,  I 
think."  We  were  in  the  upper  hall  now.  "If  you  will 
show  me  the  electric  switch,  Miss  Innes,  you  would 
better  wait  in  your  own  room." 

Trembling  as  I  was,  I  was  determined  to  see  that 
door  opened.  I  hardly  knew  what  I  feared,  but  so 
many  terrible  and  inexplicable  things  had  happened 
that  suspense  was  worse  than  certainty. 

"I  am  perfectly  cool,"  I  said,  "and  I  am  going  to 
remain  here." 

The  lights  flashed  up  along  that  end  of  the  cor- 


58       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

ridor,  throwing  the  doors  into  relief.  At  the  inter- 
section of  the  small  hallway  with  the  larger,  the 
circular  staircase  wound  its  way  up,  as  if  it  had  been 
an  afterthought  of  the  architect.  Arid  just  around  the 
corner,  in  the  small  corridor,  was  the  door  Mr.  Jamie- 
son  had  indicated.  I  was  still  unfamiliar  with  the 
house,  and  I  did  not  remember  the  door.  My  heart 
was  thumping  wildly  in  my  ears,  but  I  nodded  to  him 
to  go  ahead.  I  was  perhaps  eight  or  ten  feet  away — • 
and  then  he  threw  the  bolt  back. 

"Come  out,"  he  said  quietly.  There  was  no  re- 
sponse. "Come — out,"  he  repeated.  Then — I  think 
he  had  a  revolver,  but  I  am  not  sure — he  stepped  aside 
and  threw  the  door  open. 

From  where  I  stood  I  could  not  see  beyond  the  door, 
but  I  saw  Mr.  Jamieson's  face  change  and  heard  him 
mutter  something,  then  he  bolted  down  the  stairs,  three 
at  a  time.  When  my  knees  had  stopped  shaking,  I 
moved  forward,  slowly,  nervously,  until  I  had  a  partial 
view  of  what  was  beyond  the  door.  It  seemed  at  first 
to  be  a  closet,  empty.  Then  I  went  close  and  examined 
it,  to  stop  with  a  shudder.  Where  the  floor  should 
have  been  was  black  void  and  darkness,  from  which 
came  the  indescribable,  damp  smell  of  the  cellars. 

Mr.  Jamieson  had  locked  somebody  in  the  clothes 
chute.  As  I  leaned  over  I  fancied  I  heard  a  groan — 
or  was  it  the  wind  ? 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   SPRAINED  ANKLE 

I  WAS  panic-stricken.  As  I  ran  along  the  corri- 
dor I  was  confident  that  the  mysterious  intruder 
and  probable  murderer  had  been  found,  and  that  he 
lay  dead  or  dying  at  the  foot  of  the  chute.  I  got  down 
the  staircase  somehow,  and  through  the  kitchen  to  the 
basement  stairs.  Mr.  Jamieson  had  been  before  me, 
and  the  door  stood  open.  Liddy  was  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  kitchen,  holding  a  frying-pan  by  the 
handle  as  a  weapon. 

"Don't  go  down  there,"  she  yelled,  when  she  saw 
me  moving  toward  the  basement  stairs.  "Don't  you 
do  it,  Miss  Rachel.  That  Jamieson's  down  there  now. 
There's  only  trouble  comes  of  hunting  ghosts;  they 
lead  you  into  bottomless  pits  and  things  like  that. 
Oh,  Miss  Rachel,  don't — "  as  I  tried  to  get  past 
her. 

She  was  interrupted  by  Mr.  Jamieson's  reappear- 
ance. He  ran  up  the  stairs  two  at  a  time,  and  his 
face  was  flushed  and  furious. 

"The  whole  place  is  locked,"  he  said  angrily. 
"Where's  the  laundry  key  kept?" 

"It's  kept  in  the  door,"  Liddy  snapped.  "That 
whole  end  of  the  cellar  is  kept  locked,  so  nobody  can 
get  at  the  clothes,  and  then  the  key's  left  in  the  door, 


60       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

so  that  unless  a  thief  was  as  blind  as — as  some  de- 
tectives, he  could  walk  right  in." 

"Liddy,"  I  said  sharply,  "come  down  with  us  and 
turn  on  all  the  lights." 

She  offered  her  resignation,  as  usual,  on  the  spot, 
but  I  took  her  by  the  arm,  and  she  came  along  finally. 
She  switched  on  all  the  lights  and  pointed  to  a  door 
just  ahead. 

"That's  the  door,"  she  said  sulkily.  "The  key's 
in  it." 

But  the  key  was  not  in  it.  Mr.  Jamieson  shook  it, 
but  it  was  a  heavy  door,  well  locked.  And  then  he 
stooped  and  began  punching  around  the  keyhole  with 
the  end  of  a  lead-pencil.  When  he  stood  up  his  face 
was  exultant. 

"It's  locked  on  the  inside,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 
"There  is  somebody  in  there." 

"Lord  have  mercy!"  gasped  Liddy,  and  turned  to 
run. 

"Liddy,"  I  called,  "go  through  the  house  at  once 
and  see  who  is  missing,  or  if  any  one  is.  We'll  have 
to  clear  this  thing  at  once.  Mr.  Jamieson,  if  you  will 
watch  here  I  will  go  to  the  lodge  and  find  Warner. 
Thomas  would  be  of  no  use.  Together  you  may  be 
able  to  force  the  door." 

"A  good  idea,"  he  assented.  "But — there  are  win- 
dows, of  course,  and  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  who- 
ever is  in  there  from  getting  out  that  way." 

"Then  lock  the  door  at  the  top  of  the  basement 


A  SPRAINED  ANKLE  61 

stairs,"  I  suggested,  "and  patrol  the  house  from  the 
outside." 

We  agreed  to  this,  and  I  had  a  feeling  that  the 
mystery  of  Sunnyside  was  about  to  be  solved.  I  ran 
down  the  steps  and  along  the  drive.  Just  at  the  cor- 
ner I  ran  full  tilt  into  somebody  who  seemed  to  be  as 
much  alarmed  as  I  was.  It  was  not  until  I  had  re- 
coiled a  step  or  two  that  I  recognized  Gertrude,  and 
she  me. 

"Good  gracious,  Aunt  Ray,"  she  exclaimed,  "what 
is  the  matter  ?" 

"There's  somebody  locked  in  the  laundry,"  I  panted. 
"That  is — unless — you  didn't  see  any  one  crossing 
the  lawn  or  skulking  around  the  house,  did  you?" 

"I  think  we  have  mystery  on  the  brain,"  Gertrude 
said  wearily.  "No,  I  haven't  seen  any  one,  except  old 
Thomas,  who  looked  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  had 
been  ransacking  the  pantry.  What  have  you  locked 
in  the  laundry  ?" 

"I  can't  wait  to  explain,"  I  replied.  "I  must  get 
Warner  from  the  lodge.  If  you  came  out  for  air, 
you'd  better  put  on  your  overshoes."  And  then  I 
noticed  that  Gertrude  was  limping — not  much,  but 
sufficiently  to  make  her  progress  very  slow,  and  seem- 
ingly painful. 

"You  have  hurt  yourself,"  I  said  sharply. 

"I  fell  over  the  carriage  block,"  she  explained.  "I 
thought  perhaps  I  might  see  Halsey  coming  home.  He 
— he  ought  to  be  here." 

I  hurried  on  down  the  drive.    The  lodge  was  some 


62       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

distance  from  the  house,  in  a  grove  of  trees  where  the 
drive  met  the  county  road.  There  were  two  white 
stone  pillars  to  mark  the  entrance,  but  the  iron  gates, 
once  closed  and  tended  by  the  lodge-keeper,  now  stood 
permanently  open.  The  day  of  the  motor-car  had 
come;  no  one  had  time  for  closed  gates  and  lodge- 
keepers.  The  lodge  at  Sunnyside  was  merely  a  sort 
of  supplementary  servants'  quarters:  it  was  as  con- 
venient in  its  appointments  as  the  big  house  and  in- 
finitely more  cozy. 

As  I  went  down  the  drive,  my  thoughts  were  busy. 
Who  could  it  be  that  Mr.  Jamieson  had  trapped  in 
the  cellar  ?  Would  we  find  a  body  or  some  one  badly 
injured?  Scarcely  either.  Whoever  had  fallen  had 
been  able  to  lock  the  laundry  door  on  the  inside.  If 
the  fugitive  had  come  from  outside  the  house,  how 
did  he  get  in?  If  it  was  some  member  of  the  house- 
hold, who  could  it  have  been?  And  then — a  feeling 
of  horror  almost  overwhelmed  me.  Gertrude!  Ger- 
trude and  her  injured  ankle !  Gertrude  found  limping 
slowly  up  the  drive  when  I  had  thought  she  was  in 
bed! 

I  tried  to  put  the  thought  away,  but  it  would  not 
go.  If  Gertrude  had  been  on  the  circular  staircase 
that  night,  why  had  she  fled  from  Mr.  Jamieson? 
The  idea,  puzzling  as  it  was,  seemed  borne  out  by  this 
circumstance.  Whoever  had  taken  refuge  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs  could  scarcely  have  been  familiar  with 
the  house,  or  with  the  location  of  the  chute.  The 
mystery  seemed  to  deepen  constantly.  What  possible 


A  SPRAINED  ANKLE  63 

connection  could  there  be  between  Halsey  and  Ger- 
trude, and  the  murder  of  Arnold  Armstrong?  And 
yet,  every  way  I  turned  I  seemed  to  find  something 
that  pointed  to  such  a  connection. 

At  the  foot  of  the  drive  the  road  described  a  long, 
sloping,  horseshoe-shaped  curve  around  the  lodge. 
There  were  lights  there,  streaming  cheerfully  out  on 
to  the  trees,  and  from  an  upper  room  came  wavering 
shadows,  as  if  some  one  with  a  lamp  was  moving 
around.  I  had  come  almost  silently  in  my  evening 
slippers,  and  I  had  my  second  collision  of  the  evening 
on  the  road  just  above  the  house.  I  ran  full  into  a 
man  in  a  long  coat,  who  was  standing  in  the  shadow 
beside  the  drive,  with  his  back  to  me,  watching  the 
lighted  windows. 

"What  the  hell!"  he  ejaculated  furiously,  and 
turned  around.  When  he  saw  me,  however,  he  did  not 
wait  for  any  retort  on  my  part.  He  faded  away — 
this  is  not  slang;  he  did — he  absolutely  disappeared 
in  the  dusk  without  my  getting  more  than  a  glimpse 
of  his  face.  I  had  a  vague  impression  of  unfamiliar 
features  and  of  a  sort  of  cap  with  a  visor.  Then  he 
was  gone. 

I  went  to  the  lodge  and  rapped.  It  required  two  or 
three  poundings  to  bring  Thomas  to  the  door,  and  he 
opened  it  only  an  inch  or  so. 

"Where  is  Warner?"  I  asked. 

"I — I  think  he's  in  bed,  ma'm." 

"Get  him  up,"  I  said,  "and  for  goodness'  sake  open 
the  door,  Thomas.  I'll  wait  for  Warner." 


64       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"It's  kind  o'  close  in  here,  ma'm,"  he  said,  obeying 
gingerly,  and  disclosing  a  cool  and  comfortable-look- 
ing interior.  "Perhaps  you'd  keer  to  set  on  the  porch 
an'  rest  yo'self." 

It  was  so  evident  that  Thomas  did  not  want  me 
inside  that  I  went  in. 

"Tell  Warner  he  is  needed  in  a  hurry,"  I  repeated, 
and  turned  into  the  little  sitting-room.  I  could  hear 
Thomas  going  up  the  stairs,  could  hear  him  rouse 
Warner,  and  the  steps  of  the  chauffeur  as  he  hurriedly 
dressed.  But  my  attention  was  busy  with  the  room 
below. 

On  the  center-table,  open,  was  a  sealskin  traveling 
bag.  It  was  filled  with  gold-topped  bottles  and 
brushes,  and  it  breathed  opulence,  luxury,  femininity 
from  every  inch  of  surface.  How  did  it  get  there? 
I  was  still  asking  myself  the  question  when  Warner 
came  running  down  the  stairs  and  into  the  room.  He 
was  completely  but  somewhat  incongruously  dressed, 
and  his  open,  boyish  face  looked  abashed.  He  was  a 
country  boy,  absolutely  frank  and  reliable,  of  fair 
education  and  intelligence — one  of  the  small  army  of 
American  youths  who  turn  a  natural  aptitude  for  me- 
chanics into  the  special  field  of  the  automobile,  and 
earn  good  salaries  in  a  congenial  occupation. 

"What  is  it,  Miss  Innes?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"There  is  some  one  locked  in  the  laundry,"  I  re- 
plied. "Mr.  Jamieson  wants  you  to  help  him  break 
the  lock.  Warner,  whose  bag  is  this  ?" 


A  SPRAINED  ANKLE  65 

He  was  in  the  doorway  by  this  time,  and  he  pre- 
tended not  to  hear. 

"Warner,"  I  called,  "come  back  here.  Whose  bag 
is  this?" 

He  stopped  then,  but  he  did  not  turn  around. 

"It's — it  belongs  to  Thomas,"  he  said,  and  fled  up 
the  drive. 

To  Thomas !  A  London  bag  with  mirrors  and  cos- 
metic jars  of  which  Thomas  could  not  even  have 
guessed  the  use!  However,  I  put  the  bag  in  the  back 
of  my  mind,  which  was  fast  becoming  stored  with 
anomalous  and  apparently  irreconcilable  facts,  and 
followed  Warner  to  the  house. 

Liddy  had  come  back  to  the  kitchen:  the  door  to 
the  basement  stairs  was  double-barred,  and  had  a 
table  pushed  against  it;  and  beside  her  on  the  table 
was  most  of  the  kitchen  paraphernalia. 

"Did  you  see  if  there  was  any  one  missing  in  the 
house?"  I  asked,  ignoring  the  array  of  sauce-pans, 
rolling-pins,  and  the  poker  of  the  range. 

"Rosie  is  missing,"  Liddy  said  with  unction.  She 
had  objected  to  Rosie,  the  parlor  maid,  from  the  start 
"Mrs.  Watson  went  into  her  room,  and  found  she  had 
gone  without  her  hat.  People  that  trust  themselves 
a  dozen  miles  from  the  city,  in  strange  houses,  with 
servants  they  don't  know,  needn't  be  surprised  if  they 
wake  up  some  morning  and  find  their  throats  cut." 

After  which  carefully  veiled  sarcasm  Liddy  re- 
lapsed into  gloom.  Warner  came  in  then  with  a 


66       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

handful  of  small  tools,  and  Mr.  Jamieson  went  with 
him  to  the  basement.  Oddly  enough,  I  was  not 
alarmed.  With  all  my  heart  I  wished  for  Halsey,  but 
I  was  not  frightened.  At  the  door  he  was  to  force, 
Warner  put  down  his  tools  and  looked  at  it.  Then  he 
turned  the  handle.  Without  the  slightest  difficulty 
the  door  opened,  revealing  the  blackness  of  the  drying- 
room  beyond! 

Mr.  Jamieson  gave  an  exclamation  of  disgust. 
"Gone!"  he  said.  "Confound  such  careless  work!  I 
might  have  known." 

It  was  true  enough.  We  got  the  lights  on  finally 
and  looked  all  through  the  three  rooms  that  consti- 
tuted this  wing  of  the  basement.  Everything  was 
quiet  and  empty.  An  explanation  of  how  the  fugitive 
had  escaped  injury  was  found  in  a  heaped-up  basket 
of  clothes  under  the  chute.  The  basket  had  been  over- 
turned, but  that  was  all.  Mr.  Jamieson  examined  the 
windows:  one  was  unlocked,  and  offered  an  easy 
escape.  The  window  or  the  door?  Which  way  had 
the  fugitive  escaped?  The  door  seemed  most  prob- 
able, and  I  hoped  it  had  been  so.  I  could  not  have 
borne,  just  then,  to  think  that  it  was  my  poor  Ger- 
trude we  had  been  hounding  through  the  darkness, 
and  yet — I  had  met  Gertrude  not  far  from  that  very 
window. 

I  went  up-stairs  at  last,  tired  and  depressed.  Mrs. 
Watson  and  Liddy  were  making  tea  in  the  kitchen. 
In  certain  walks  of  life  the  tea-pot  is  the  refuge  in 
times  of  stress,  trouble  or  sickness:  they  give  tea  to 


A  SPRAINED  ANKLE  67 

the  dying  and  they  put  it  in  the  baby's  nursing  bottle. 
Mrs.  Watson  was  fixing  a  tray  to  be  sent  in  to  me, 
and  when  I  asked  her  about  Rosie  she  confirmed  her 
absence. 

"She's  not  here,"  she  said;  "but  I  would  not  think 
much  of  that,  Miss  Innes.  Rosie  is  a  pretty  young 
girl,  and  perhaps  she  has  a  sweetheart.  It  will  be  a 
good  thing  if  she  has.  The  maids  stay  much  better 
when  they  have  something  like  that  to  hold  them  here." 

Gertrude  had  gone  back  to  her  room,  and  while 
I  was  drinking  my  cup  of  hot  tea,  Mr.  Jamieson 
came  in. 

"We  might  take  up  the  conversation  where  we  left 
off  an  hour  and  a  half  ago,"  he  said.  "But  before  we 
go  on,  I  want  to  say  this:  The  person  who  escaped 
from  the  laundry  was  a  woman  with  a  foot  of  mod- 
erate size  and  well  arched.  She  wore  nothing  but  a 
stocking  on  her  right  foot,  and,  in  spite  of  the  un- 
locked door,  she  escaped  by  the  window." 

And  again  I  thought  of  Gertrude's  sprained  ankle. 
Was  it  the  right  or  the  left  ? 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   OTHER    HALF   OF   THE   LINK 

"TV  TISS  INNES,"  the  detective  began,  "what  is 
•J-VA  your  opinion  of  the  figure  you  saw  on  the  east 
veranda  the  night  you  and  your  maid  were  in  the  house 
alone  ?" 

"It  was  a  woman,"  I  said  positively. 

"And  yet  your  maid  affirms  with  equal  positiveness 
that  it  was  a  man." 

"Nonsense,"  I  broke  in.  "Liddy  had  her  eyes  shut 
• — she  always  shuts  them  when  she's  frightened." 

"And  you  never  thought  then  that  the  intruder  who 
came  later  that  night  might  be  a  woman — the  woman, 
in  fact,  whom  you  saw  on  the  veranda  ?" 

"I  had  reasons  for  thinking  it  was  a  man,"  I  said, 
remembering  the  pearl  cuff-link. 

"Now  we  are  getting  down  to  business.  What 
were  you  reasons  for  thinking  that?" 

I  hesitated. 

"If  you  have  any  reason  for  believing  that  your 
midnight  guest  was  Mr.  Armstrong,  other  than  his 
visit  here  the  next  night,  you  ought  to  tell  me,  Miss 
Innes.  We  can  take  nothing  for  granted.  If,  for 
instance,  the  intruder  who  dropped  the  bar  and 
scratched  the  staircase — you  see,  I  know  about  that — 
if  this  visitor  was  a  woman,  why  should  not  the  same 


THE  OTHER  HALF  OF  THE  LINK    69 

woman  have  come  back  the  following  'night,  met  Mr. 
Armstrong  on  the  circular  staircase,  and  in  alarm  shot 
him  ?" 

"It  was  a  man,"  I  reiterated.  And  then,  because  I 
could  think  of  no  other  reason  for  my  statement,  I 
told  him  about  the  pearl  cuff-link.  He  was  intensely 
interested. 

"Will  you  give  me  the  link,"  he  said,  when  I  fin- 
ished, "or,  at  least,  let  me  see  it  ?  I  consider  it  a  most 
important  clue." 

"Won't  the  description  do?" 

"Not  as  well  as  the  original." 

"Well,  I'm  very  sorry,"  I  said,  as  calmly  as  I  could, 
"I — the  thing  is  lost.  It — it  must  have  fallen  out  of 
a  box  on  my  dressing-table." 

Whatever  he  thought  of  my  explanation,  and  I  knew 
he  doubted  it,  he  made  no  sign.  He  asked  me  to  de- 
scribe the  link  accurately,  and  I  did  so,  while  he  glanced 
at  a  list  he  took  from  his  pocket. 

"One  set  monogram  cuff-links,"  he  read,  "one  set 
plain  pearl  links,  one  set  cuff-links,  woman's  head  set 
with  diamonds  and  emeralds.  There  is  no  mention  of 
such  a  link  as  you  describe,  and  yet,  if  your  theory  is 
right,  Mr.  Armstrong  must  have  taken  back  in  his 
cuffs  one  complete  cuff-link,  and  a  half,  perhaps,  of 
the  other.'' 

The  idea  was  new  to  me.  If  it  had  not  been  the 
murdered  man  who  had  entered  the  house  that  night, 
who  had  it  been? 

"There  are  a  number  of  strange  things  connected 


70       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

with  this  case,"  the  detective  went  on.  "Miss  Ger- 
trude Innes  testified  that  she  heard  some  one  fumbling 
•with  the  lock,  that  the  door  opened,  and  that  almost 
immediately  the  shot  was  fired.  Now,  Miss  Innes, 
here  is  the  strange  part  of  that.  Mr.  Armstrong  had 
no  key  with  him.  There  was  no  key  in  the  lock,  or  on 
the  floor.  In  other  words,  the  evidence  points  abso- 
lutely to  this:  Mr.  Armstrong  was  admitted  to  the 
house  from  within." 

"It  is  impossible,"  I  broke  in.  "Mr.  Jamieson,  do 
you  know  what  your  words  imply  ?  Do  you  know  that 
you  are  practically  accusing  Gertrude  Innes  of  ad- 
mitting that  man?" 

"Not  quite  that,"  he  said,  with  his  friendly  smile. 
"In  fact,  Miss  Innes,  I  am  quite  certain  she  did  not. 
But  as  long  as  I  learn  only  parts  of  the  truth,  from 
both  you  and  her,  what  can  I  do  ?  I  know  you  picked 
up  something  in  the  flower  bed :  you  refuse  to  tell  me 
what  it  was.  I  know  Miss  Gertrude  went  back  to  the 
billiard-room  to  get  something,  she  refuses  to  say 
what.  You  suspect  what  happened  to  the  cuff-link, 
but  you  won't  tell  me.  So  far,  all  I  am  sure  of  is  this : 
I  do  not  believe  Arnold  Armstrong  was  the  midnight 
visitor  who  so  alarmed  you  by  dropping — shall  we 
say,  a  golf -stick?  And  I  believe  that  when  he  did 
come  he  was  admitted  by  some  one  in  the  house.  Who 
knows — it  may  have  been — Liddy !" 

I  stirred  my  tea  angrily. 

"I  have  always  heard,"  I  said  dryly,  "that  under- 
takers' assistants  are  jovial  young  men.  A  man's 


THE  OTHER  HALF  OF  THE  LINK    71 

sense  of  humor  seems  to  be  in  inverse  proportion  to 
the  gravity  of  his  profession." 

"A  man's  sense  of  humor  is  a  barbarous  and  a  cruel 
thing,  Miss  Innes,"  he  admitted.  "It  is  to  the  femi- 
nine as  the  hug  of  a  bear  is  to  the  scratch  of — well, 
anything  with  claws.  Is  that  you,  Thomas?  Come 
in." 

Thomas  Johnson  stood  in  the  doorway.  He  looked 
alarmed  and  apprehensive,  and  suddenly  I  remem- 
bered the  sealskin  dressing-bag  in  the  lodge.  Thomas 
came  just  inside  the  door  and  stood  with  his  head 
drooping,  his  eyes,  under  their  shaggy  gray  brows, 
fixed  on  Mr.  Jamieson. 

"Thomas,"  said  the  detective,  not  unkindly,  "I  sent 
for  you  to  tell  us  what  you  told  Sam  Bohannon  at  the 
club,  the  day  before  Mr.  Arnold  was  found  here,  dead. 
Let  me  see.  You  came  here  Friday  night  to  see  Miss 
Innes,  didn't  you  ?  And  came  to  work  here  Saturday 
morning?" 

For  some  unexplained  reason  Thomas  looked  re- 
lieved. 

"Yas,  sah,"  he  said.  "You  see  it  were  like  this: 
When  Mistah  Armstrong  and  the  fam'ly  went  away, 
Mis'  Watson  an'  me,  we  was  lef  in  charge  till  the 
place  was  rented.  Mis'  Watson,  she've  bin  here  a 
good  while,  an'  she  warn'  skeery.  So  she  slep'  in  the 
house.  I'd  bin  havin'  tokens — I  tol'  Mis'  Innes  some 
of  'em — an'  I  slep'  in  the  lodge.  Then  one  day  Mis' 
Watson,  she  came  to  me  an'  she  sez,  sez  she,  'Thomas, 
you'll  hev  to  sleep  up  in  the  big  house.  I'm  too  nerv- 


72      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

ous  to  do  it  any  more.'  But  I  jes'  reckon  to  myself 
that  ef  it's  too  skeery  fer  her,  it's  too  skeery  fer  me. 
[We  had  it,  then,  sho'  nuff,  and  it  ended  up  with  Mis' 
Watson  stayin'  in  the  lodge  nights  an'  me  lookin'  fer 
;work  at  de  club." 

"Did  Mrs.  Watson  say  that  anything  had  happened 
to  alarm  her?" 

"No,  sah.  She  was  jes'  natchally  skeered.  Well, 
that  was  all,  far's  I  know,  until  the  night  I  come  over 
to  see  Mis'  Innes.  I  come  across  the  valley,  along  the 
path  from  the  club-house,  and  I  goes  home  that  way. 
Down  in  the  creek  bottom  I  almost  run  into  a  man. 
He  wuz  standin'  with  his  back  to  me,  an'  he  was  work- 
in'  with  one  of  these  yere  electric  light  things  that 
fit  in  yer  pocket.  He  was  havin'  trouble — one  minute 
it'd  flash  out,  an'  the  nex'  it'd  be  gone.  I  hed  a  view 
of  'is  white  dress  shirt  an'  tie,  as  I  passed.  I  didn't 
!see  his  face.  But  I  know  it  warn't  Mr.  Arnold.  It 
;was  a  taller  man  than  Mr.  Arnold.  Beside  that,  Mr. 
[Arnold  was  playin'  cards  when  I  got  to  the  club-house, 
Same's  he'd  been  doin'  all  day." 

"And  the  next  morning  you  came  back  along  the 
path,"  pursued  Mr.  Jamieson  relentlessly. 

"The  nex'  mornin'  I  come  back  along  the  path  an* 
'down  where  I  dun  see  the  man  night  befoh,  I  picked  up 
this  here."  The  old  man  held  out  a  tiny  object,  and 
Mr.  Jamieson  took  it.  Then  he  held  it  on  his  extended 
palm  for  me  to  see.  It  was  the  other  half  of  the  pearl 
cuff-link ! 


THE  OTHER  HALF  OF  THE  LINK    73 

But  Mr.  Jamieson  was  not  quite  through  question- 
ing him. 

"And  so  you  showed  it  to  Sam,  at  the  club,  and 
asked  him  if  he  knew  any  one  who  owned  such  a  link, 
and  Sam  said — what?" 

"Wai,  Sam,  he  'lowed  he'd  seen  such  a  pair  of  cuff- 
buttons  in  a  shirt  belongin'  to  Mr.  Bailey — Mr.  Jack 
Bailey,  sah." 

"I'll  keep  this  link,  Thomas,  for  a  while,"  the  de- 
tective said.  "That's  all  I  wanted  to  know.  Good 
night." 

As  Thomas  shuffled  out,  Mr.  Jamieson  watched  me 
sharply. 

"You  see,  Miss  Innes,"  he  said,  "Mr.  Bailey  insists 
on  mixing  himself  with  this  thing.  If  Mr.  Bailey 
came  here  that  Friday  night  expecting  to  meet  Arnold 
Armstrong,  and  missed  him — if,  as  I  say,  he  had  done 
this,  might  he  not,  seeing  him  enter  the  following 
night,  have  struck  him  down,  as  he  had  intended  be- 
fore?" 

"But  the  motive?"  I  gasped. 

"There  could  be  motive  proved,  I  think.  Arnold 
Armstrong  and  John  Bailey  have  been  enemies  since 
the  latter,  as  cashier  of  the  Traders'  Bank,  brought 
Arnold  almost  into  the  clutches  of  the  law.  Also,  you 
forget  that  both  men  have  been  paying  attention  to 
Miss  Gertrude.  Bailey's  flight  looks  bad,  too." 

"And  you  think  Halsey  helped  him  to  escape?" 

"Undoubtedly.  Why,  what  could  it  be  but  flight? 
Miss  Innes,  let  me  reconstruct  that  evening,  as  I  see 


74       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

it.  Bailey  and  Armstrong  had  quarreled  at  the  club. 
I  learned  this  to-day.  Your  nephew  brought  Bailey 
over.  Prompted  by  jealous,  insane  fury,  Armstrong 
followed,  coming  across  by  the  path.  He  entered  the 
billiard-room  wing — perhaps  rapping,  and  being  ad- 
mitted by  your  nephew.  Just  inside  he  was  shot,  by 
some  one  on  the  circular  staircase.  The  shot  fired, 
your  nephew  and  Bailey  left  the  house  at  once,  going 
toward  the  automobile  house.  They  left  by  the  lower 
road,  which  prevented  them  being  heard,  and  when 
you  and  Miss  Gertrude  got  down-stairs  everything 
was  quiet." 

"But — Gertrude's  story,"  I  stammered. 

"Miss  Gertrude  only  brought  forward  her  explana- 
tion the  following  morning.  I  do  not  believe  it,  Miss 
Innes.  It  is  the  story  of  a  loving  and  ingenious 
woman." 

"And — this  thing  to-night?" 

"May  upset  my  whole  view  of  the  case.  We  must 
give  the  benefit  of  every  doubt,  after  all.  We  may, 
for  instance,  come  back  to  the  figure  on  the  porch: 
if  it  was  a  woman  you  saw  that  night  through  the 
window,  we  might  start  with  other  premises.  Or  Mr. 
Innes'  explanation  may  turn  us  in  a  new  direction. 
It  is  possible  that  he  shot  Arnold  Armstrong  as  a 
burglar  and  then  fled,  frightened  at  what  he  had  done. 
In  any  case,  however,  I  feel  confident  that  the  body 
was  here  when  he  left.  Mr.  Armstrong  left  the  club 
ostensibly  for  a  moonlight  saunter,  about  half  after 
eleven  o'clock.  It  was  three  when  the  shot  was  fired." 


THE  OTHER  HALF  OF  THE  LINK    75 

I  leaned  back  bewildered.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the 
evening  had  been  full  of  significant  happenings,  had 
I  only  held  the  key.  Had  Gertrude  been  the  fugitive 
in  the  clothes  chute?  Who  was  the  man  on  the  drive 
near  the  lodge,  and  whose  gold-mounted  dressing-bag 
had  I  seen  in  the  lodge  sitting-room? 

It  was  late  when  Mr.  Jamieson  finally  got  up  to  go. 
I  went  with  him  to  the  door,  and  together  we  stood 
looking  out  over  the  valley.  Below  lay  the  village  of 
Casanova,  with  its  Old  World  houses,  its  blossoming 
trees  and  its  peace.  Above  on  the  hill  across  the  val- 
ley were  the  lights  of  the  Greenwood  Club.  It  was 
even  possible  to  see  the  curving  row  of  parallel  lights 
that  marked  the  carriage  road.  Riynors  that  I  had 
heard  about  the  club  came  back — of  drinking,  of  high 
play,  and  once,  a  year  ago,  of  a  suicide  under  those 
very  lights. 

Mr.  Jamieson  left,  taking  a  short  cut  to  the  village, 
and  I  still  stood  there.  It  must  have  been  after  eleven, 
and  the  monotonous  tick  of  the  big  clock  on  the  stairs 
behind  me  was  the  only  sound.  Then  I  was  conscious 
that  some  one  was  running  up  the  drive.  In  a  minute 
a  woman  darted  into  the  area  of  light  made  by  the 
open  door,  and  caught  me  by  the  arm.  It  was  Rosie 
— Rosie  in  a  state  of  collapse  from  terror,  and,  not  the 
least  important,  clutching  one  of  my  Coalport  plates 
and  a  silver  spoon. 

She  stood  staring  into  the  darkness  behind,  still 
holding  the  plate.  I  got  her  into  the  house  and  se- 
cured the  plate;  then  I  stood  and  looked  down  at  her 


76       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

where  she  crouched  tremblingly  against  the  doorway. 

"Well,"  I  asked,  "didn't  your  young  man  enjoy 
his  meal?" 

She  couldn't  speak.  She  looked  at  the  spoon  she 
still  held — I  wasn't  so  anxious  about  it :  thank  Heaven, 
it  wouldn't  chip — and  then  she  stared  at  me. 

"I  appreciate  your  desire  to  have  everything  nice 
for  him,"  I  went  on,  "but  the  next  time,  you  might 
take  the  Limoges  china.  It's  more  easily  duplicated 
and  less  expensive." 

"I  haven't  a  young  man — not  here."  She  had  got 
her  breath  now,  as  I  had  guessed  she  would.  "I — I 
have  been  chased  by  a  thief,  Miss  Innes." 

"Did  he  chase  you  out  of  the  house  and  back  again  ?" 
I  asked. 

Then  Rosie  began  to  cry — not  silently,  but  noisily, 
hysterically.  I  stopped  her  by  giving  her  a  good 
shake. 

"What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you?"  I 
snapped.  "Has  the  day  of  good  common  sense  gone 
by !  Sit  up  and  tell  me  the  whole  thing." 

Rosie  sat  up  then,  and  sniffled. 

"I  was  coming  up  the  drive — "  she  began. 

"You  must  start  with  when  you  went  down  the  drive, 
with  my  dishes  and  my  silver,"  I  interrupted,  but,  see- 
ing more  signs  of  hysteria,  I  gave  in.  "Very  well. 
You  were  coming  up  the  drive — " 

"I  had  a  basket  of — of  silver  and  dishes  on  my  arm, 
and  I  was  carrying  the  plate,  because — because  I  was 
afraid  I'd  break  it.  Part-way  up  the  road  a  man 


THE  OTHER  HALF  OF  THE  LINK    77 

stepped  out  of  the  bushes,  and  held  his  arm  like  this, 
spread  out,  so  I  couldn't  get  past.  He  said — he  said 
— 'Not  so  fast,  young  lady;  I  want  you  to  let  me  see 
what's  in  that  basket.'  " 

She  got  up  in  her  excitement  and  took  hold  of  my 
arm. 

"It  was  -ike  this,  Miss  Innes,"  she  said,  "and  say 
you  was  the  man.  When  he  said  that,  I  screamed  and 
ducked  under  his  arm  like  this.  He  caught  at  the 
basket  and  I  dropped  it.  I  ran  as  fast  as  I  could,  and 
he  came  after  as  far  as  the  trees.  Then  he  stopped. 
Oh,  Miss  Innes,  it  must  have  been  the  man  that  killed 
that  Mr.  Armstrong!" 

"Don't  be  foolish,"  I  said.  "Whoever  killed  Mr. 
Armstrong  would  put  as  much  space  between  himself 
and  this  house  as  he  could.  Go  up  to  bed  now;  and 
mind,  if  I  hear  of  this  story  being  repeated  to  the 
other  maids,  I  shall  deduct  from  your  wages  for  every 
broken  dish  I  find  in  the  drive." 

I  listened  to  Rosie  as  she  went  up-stairs,  running 
past  the  shadowy  places  and  slamming  her  door. 
Then  I  sat  down  and  looked  at  the  Coalport  plate  and 
the  silver  spoon.  I  had  brought  my  own  china  and 
silver,  and,  from  all  appearances,  I  would  have  little 
enough  to  take  back.  But  though  I  might  jeer  at 
Rosie  as  much  as  I  wished,  the  fact  remained  that 
some  one  had  been  on  the  drive  that  night  who  had 
no  business  there.  Although  neither  had  Rosie,  for 
that  matter. 

I  could  fancy  Liddy's  face  when  she  missed  the 


78       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

extra  pieces  of  china — she  had  opposed  Rosie  from 
the  start.  If  Liddy  once  finds  a  prophecy  fulfilled, 
especially  an  unpleasant  one,  she  never  allows  me  to 
forget  it.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  absurd  to  leave 
that  china  dotted  along  the  road  for  her  to  spy  the 
next  morning;  so  with  a  sudden  resolution,  I  opened 
the  door  again  and  stepped  out  into  the  darkness.  As 
the  door  closed  behind  me  I  half  regretted  my  im- 
pulse; then  I  shut  my  teeth  and  went  on. 

I  have  never  been  a  nervous  woman,  as  I  said  be- 
fore. Moreover,  a  minute  or  two  in  the  darkness 
enabled  me  to  see  things  fairly  well.  Beulah  gave  me 
rather  a  start  by  rubbing  unexpectedly  against  my 
feet ;  then  we  two,  side  by  side,  went  down  the  drive. 

There  were  no  fragments  of  china,  but  where  the 
grove  began  I  picked  up  a  silver  spoon.  So  far 
Rosie's  story  was  borne  out :  I  began  to  wonder  if  it 
were  not  indiscreet,  to  say  the  least,  this  midnight 
prowling  in  a  neighborhood  with  such  a  deservedly 
bad  reputation.  Then  I  saw  something  gleaming, 
which  proved  to  be  the  handle  of  a  cup,  and  a  step  or 
two  farther  on  I  found  a  V-shaped  bit  of  a  plate. 
But  the  most  surprising  thing  of  all  was  to  find  the 
basket  sitting  comfortably  beside  the  road,  with  the 
rest  of  the  broken  crockery  piled  neatly  -within,  and 
a  handful  of  small  silver,  spoons,  forks,  and  the  like, 
on  top!  I  could  only  stand  and  stare.  Then  Rosie's 
story  was  true.  But  where  had  Rosie  carried  her 
basket?  And  why  had  the  thief,  if  he  were  a  thief, 


THE  OTHER  HALF  OF  THE  LINK    79 

picked  up  the  broken  china  out  of  the  road  and  left  it, 
with  his  booty? 

It  was  with  my  nearest  approach  to  a  nervous  col- 
lapse that  I  heard  the  familiar  throbbing  of  an  auto- 
mobile engine.  As  it  came  closer  I  recognized  the 
outline  of  the  Dragon  Fly,  and  knew  that  Halsey  had 
come  back. 

Strange  enough  it  must  have  seemed  to  Halsey,  too, 
to  come  across  me  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  with  the 
skirt  of  my  gray  silk  gown  over  my  shoulders  to  keep 
off  the  dew,  holding  a  red  and  green  basket  under  one 
arm  and  a  black  cat  under  the  other.  What  with  re- 
lief and  joy,  I  began  to  cry,  right  there,  and  very 
nearly  wiped  my  eyes  on  Beulah  in  the  excitement. 


CHAPTER  IX 

JUST   LIKE   A    GIRL 

"  A  UNT  RAY!"  Halsey  said  from  the  gloom  be- 
•**•  hind  the  lamps.  "What  in  the  world  are  you 
doing  here?" 

"Taking  a  walk,"  I  said,  trying  to  be  composed. 
I  don't  think  the  answer  struck  either  of  us  as  being 
ridiculous  at  the  time.  "Oh,  Halsey,  where  have  you 
been?" 

"Let  me  take  you  up  to  the  house."  He  was  in  the 
road,  and  had  Beulah  and  the  basket  out  of  my  arms 
in  a  moment.  I  could  see  the  car  plainly  now,  and 
Warner  was  at  the  wheel — Warner  in  an  ulster  and  a 
pair  of  slippers,  over  Heaven  knows  what.  Jack 
Bailey  was  not  there.  I  got  in,  and  we  went  slowly 
and  painfully  up  to  the  house. 

We  did  not  talk.  What  we  had  to  say  was  too  im- 
portant to  commence  there,  and,  besides,  it  took  all 
kinds  of  coaxing  from  both  men  to  get  the  Dragon 
Fly  up  the  last  grade.  Only  when  we  had  closed  the 
front  door  and  stood  facing  each  other  in  the  hall,  did 
Halsey  say  anything.  He  slipped  his  strong  young 
arm  around  my  shoulders  and  turned  me  so  I  faced 
the  light. 

"Poor  Aunt  Ray!"  he  said  gently.  And  I  nearly 
80 


JUST  LIKE  A  GIRL 81 

wept  again.  "I — I  must  see  Gertrude,  too;  we  will 
have  a  three-cornered  talk." 

And  then  Gertrude  herself  came  down  the  stairs. 
She  had  not  been  to  bed,  evidently :  she  still  wore  the 
white  negligee  she  had  worn  earlier  in  the  evening, 
and  she  limped  somewhat.  During  her  slow  progress 
down  the  stairs  I  had  time  to  notice  one  thing:  Mr. 
Jamieson  had  said  the  woman  who  escaped  from  the 
cellar  had  worn  no  shoe  on  her  right  foot.  Gertrude's 
right  ankle  was  the  one  she  had  sprained ! 

The  meeting  between  brother  and  sister  was  tense, 
but  without  tears.  Halsey  kissed  her  tenderly,  and 
I  noticed  evidences  of  strain  and  anxiety  in  both 
young  faces. 

"Is  everything — right?"  she  asked. 

"Right  as  can  be,"  with  forced  cheerfulness. 

I  lighted  the  living-room  and  we  went  ir*  there. 
Only  a  half-hour  before  I  had  sat  witli  Mr.  Jamieson 
in  that  very  room,  listening  while  he  overtly  accused 
both  Gertrude  and  Halsey  of  at  least  a  knowledge  of 
the  death  of  Arnold  Armstrong.  Now  Halsey  was 
here  to  speak  for  himself:  I  should  learn  everything 
that  had  puzzled  me. 

"I  saw  it  in  the  paper  to-night  for  the  first  time,'* 
'he.  was  saying.  "It  knocked  me  dumb.  When  I  think 
of  this  houseful  of  women,  and  a  thing  like  that 
occurring !" 

Gertrude's  face  was  still  set  and  white.  "That 
isn't  all,  Halsey,"  she  said.  "You  and — and  Jack 
left  almost  at  the  time  it  happened.  The  detective 


82      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

here  thinks  that  you — that  we — know  something  about 
it." 

"The  devil  he  does !"  Halsey's  eyes  were  fairly  start- 
ing from  his  head.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Aunt  Ray, 
-but — the  fellow's  a  lunatic." 

"Tell  me  everything,  won't  you,  Halsey  ?"  I  begged. 
"Tell  me  where  you  went  that  night,  or  rather  morn- 
ing, and  why  you  went  as  you  did.  This  has  been  a 
terrible  'forty-eight  hours  for  all  of  us." 

He  stood  staring  at  me,  and  I  could  see  the  horror 
of  the  situation  dawning  in  his  face. 

"I  can't  tell  you  where  I  went,  Aunt  Ray,"  he  said, 
after  a  moment.  "As  to  why,  you  will  learn  that  soon 
enough.  But  Gertrude  knows  that  Jack  and  I  left 
the  house  before  this  thing — this  horrible  murder — 
occurred." 

"Mr.  Jamieson  does  not  believe  me,"  Gertrude  said 
drearily.  "Halsey,  if  the  worst  comes,  if  they  should 
arrest  you,  you  must — tell." 

"I  shall  tell  nothing,"  he  .said  with  a  new  sternness 
in  his  voice.  "Aunt  Ray,  it  was  necessary  for  Jack 
and  me  to  leave  that  night.  I  can  not  tell  you  why — 
just  yet.  As  to  where  we  went,  if  I  have  to  depend 
on  that  as  an  alibi,  I  shall  not  tell.  The  whole  thing 
is  an  absurdity,  a  trumped-up  charge  that  can  not 
possibly  be  serious." 

"Has  Mr.  Bailey  gone  back  to  the  city,"  I  de- 
manded, "or  to  the  club?" 

"Neither,"  defiantly;  "at  the  present  moment  I  do 
not  know  where  he  is." 


JUST  LIKE  A  GIRL  83 

"Halsey,"  I  asked  gravely,  leaning  forward,  "have 
you  the  slightest  suspicion  who  killed  Arnold  Arm- 
strong? The  police  think  he  was  admitted  from 
within,  and  that  he  was  shot  down  from  above,  by 
some  one  on  the  circular  staircase." 

"I  know  nothing  of  it,"  he  maintained;  but  I  fan- 
cied I  caught  a  sudden  glance  at  Gertrude,  a  flash  of 
something  that  died  as  it  came. 

A's  quietly,  as  calmly  as  I  could,  I  went  over  the 
whole  story,  from  the  night  Liddy  and  I  had  been 
alone  up  to  the  strange  experience  of  Rosie  and  her 
pursuer.  The  basket  still  stood  on  the  table,  a  mute 
witness  to  this  last  mystifying  occurrence. 

"There  is  something  else,"  I  said  hesitatingly,  at 
the  last.  "Halsey,  I  have  never  told  this  even  to  Ger- 
trude, but  the  morning  after  the  crime,  I  found,  in 
a  tulip  bed,  a  revolver.  It — it  was  yours,  Halsey." 

For  an  appreciable  moment  Halsey  stared  at  me. 
Then  he  turned  to  Gertrude. 

"My  revolver,  Trude!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  Jack 
took  my  revolver  with  him,  didn't  he?" 

"Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  say  that,"  I  implored. 
"The  detective  thinks  possibly  Jack  Bailey  came  back, 
and — and  the  thing  happened  then." 

"He  didn't  come  back,"  Halsey  said  sternly.  "Ger- 
trude, when  you  brought  down  a  revolver  that  night 
for  Jack  to  take  with  him,  what  one  did  you  bring? 
Mine?" 

Gertrude  was  defiant  now. 

"No.    Yours  was  loaded,  and  I  was  afraid  of  what 


84      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

Jack — might  do.  I  gave  him  one  I  have  had  for  a 
year  or  two.  It  was  empty." 

Halsey  threw  up  both  hands  despairingly. 

"If  that  isn't  like  a  girl!"  he  said.  "Why  didn't 
you  do  what  I  asked  you  to,  Gertrude?  You  send 
Bailey  off  with  an  empty  gun,  and  throw  mine  in  a 
tulip  bed,  of  all  places  on  earth !  Mine  was  a  thirty- 
eight  caliber.  The  inquest  will  show,  of  course,  that 
the  bullet  that  killed  Armstrong  was  a  thirty-eight. 
Then  where  shall  I  be?" 

"You  forget,"  I  broke  in,  "that  I  have  the  revolver, 
and  that  no  one  knows  about  it." 

But  Gertrude  had  risen  angrily. 

"I  can  not  stand  it ;  it  is  always  with  me,"  she  cried. 
"Halsey,  I  did  not  throw  your  revolver  into  the  tulip 
bed.  I — think — you — did  it — yourself!" 

They  stared  at  each  other  across  the  big  library 
table,  with  young  eyes  all  at  once  hard,  suspicious. 
And  then  Gertrude  held  out  both  hands  to  him  ap- 
pealingly. 

"We  must  not,"  she  said  brokenly.  "Just  now,  with 
so  much  at  stake,  it — is  shameful.  I  know  you  are  as 
ignorant  as  I  am.  Make  me  believe  it,  Halsey." 

Halsey  soothed  her  as  best  he  could,  and  the  breach 
seemed  healed.  But  long  after  I  went  to  bed  he  sat 
down-stairs  in  the  living-room  alone,  and  I  knew  he 
was  going  over  the  case  as  he  had  learned  it.  Some 
things  were  clear  to  him  that  were  dark  to  me.  He 
knew,  and  Gertrude,  too,  why  Jack  Bailey  and  he  had 
gone  away  that  night,  as  they  did.  He  knew  where 


JUST  LIKE  A  GIRL 85 

they  had  been  for  the  last  forty-eight  hours,  and  why 
Jack  Bailey  had  not  returned  with  him.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  without  fuller  confidence  from  both  the  chil- 
dren— they  are  always  children  to  me — I  should  never 
be  able  to  learn  anything. 

As  I  was  finally  getting  ready  for  bed,  Halsey  came 
up-stairs  and  knocked  at  my  door.  When  I  had  got 
into  a  negligee — I  used  to  say  wrapper  before  Ger- 
trude came  back  from  school — I  let  him  in.  He  stood 
in  the  doorway  a  moment,  and  then  he  went  into 
agonies  of  silent  mirth.  I  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the 
bed  and  waited  in  severe  silence  for  him  to  stop,  but 
he  only  seemed  to  grow  worse.  When  he  had  recov- 
ered he  took  me  by  the  elbow  and  pulled  me  in  front 
of  the  mirror. 

"  'How  to  be  beautiful,'  "  he  quoted.  "  'Advice  to 
maids  and  matrons,'  by  Beatrice  Fairfax !"  And  then 
I  saw  myself.  I  had  neglected  to  remove  my  wrinkle 
eradicators,  and  I  presume  my  appearance  was  odd. 
I  believe  that  it  is  a  woman's  duty  to  care  for  her 
looks,  but  it  is  much  like  telling  a  necessary  falsehood 
— one  must  not  be  found  out.  By  the  time  I  got  them 
off  Halsey  was  serious  again,  and  I  listened  to  his 
story. 

"Aunt  Ray,"  he  began,  extinguishing  his  cigarette 
on  the  back  of  my  ivory  hair-brush,  "I  would  give  a 
lot  to  tell  you  the  whole  thing.  But — I  can't,  for  a 
day  or  so,  anyhow.  But  one  thing  I  might  have  told 
you  a  long  time  ago.  If  you  had  known  it,  you  would 
not  have  suspected  me  for  a  moment  of — of  having 


86       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

anything  to  do  with  the  attack  on  Arnold  Armstrong. 
Goodness  knows  what  I  might  do  to  a  fellow  like  that, 
if  there  was  enough  provocation,  and  I  had  a  gun  in 
my  hand — under  ordinary  circumstances.  But — I  care 
a  greal  deal  about  Louise  Armstrong,  Aunt  Ray.  I 
hope  to  marry  her  some  day.  Is  it  likely  I  would  kill 
her  brother  ?" 

"Her  stepbrother,"  I  corrected.  "No,  of  course,  it 
isn't  likely,  or  possible.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me, 
Halsey?" 

"Well,  there  were  two  reasons,"  he  said  slowly. 
"One  was  that  you  had  a  girl  already  picked  out  for 
me — " 

"Nonsense,"  I  broke  in,  and  felt  myself  growing 
red.  I  had,  indeed,  one  of  the — but  no  matter. 

"And  the  second  reason,"  he  pursued,  "was  that  the 
Armstrongs  would  have  none  of  me." 

I  sat  bolt  upright  at  that  and  gasped.  ' 

"The  Armstrongs!"  I  repeated.  "With  old  Peter 
Armstrong  driving  a  stage  across  the  mountains  while 
your  grandfather  was  war  governor — " 

"Well,  of  course,  the  war  governor's  dead,  and  out 
of  the  matrimonial  market,"  Halsey  interrupted. 
"And  the  present  Innes  admits  himself  he  isn't  good 
enough  for — for  Louise." 

"Exactly,"  I  said  despairingly,  "and,  of  course,  you 
are  taken  at  your  own  valuation.  The  Inneses  are 
not  always  so  self-depreciatory." 

"Not  always,  no,"  he  said,  looking  at  me  with  his 
boyish  smile.  "Fortunately,  Louise  doesn't  agree  with 


JUST  LIKE  A  GIRL 87 

her  family.  She's  willing  to  take  me,  war  governor 
or  no,  provided  her  mother  consents.  She  isn't  overly- 
fond  of  her  stepfather,  but  she  adores  her  mother. 
And  now,  can't  you  see  where  this  thing  puts  me? 
Down  and  out,  with  all  of  them." 

"But  the  whole  thing  is  absurd,"  I  argued.  "And 
besides,  Gertrude's  sworn  statement  that  you  left  be- 
fore Arnold  Armstrong  came  would  clear  you  at 
once." 

Halsey  got  up  and  began  to  pace  the  room,  and  the 
air  of  cheerfulness  dropped  like  a  mask. 

"She  can't  swear  it,"  he  said  finally.  "Gertrude's 
story  was  true  as  far  as  it  went,  but  she  didn't  tell 
everything.  Arnold  Armstrong  came  here  at  two- 
thirty — came  into  the  billiard-room  and  left  in  five 
minutes.  He  came  to  bring — something." 

"Halsey,"  I  cried,  "you  must  tell  me  the  whole  truth. 
Every  time  I  see  a  way  for  you  to  escape  you  block 
it  yourself  with  this  wall  of  mystery.  What  did  he 
bring  ?" 

"A  telegram — for  Bailey,"  he  said.  "It  came  by 
special  messenger  from  town,  and  was — most  impor- 
tant. Bailey  had  started  for  here,  and  the  messenger 
had  gone  back  to  the  city.  The  steward  gave  it  to 
Arnold,  who  had  been  drinking  all  day  and  couldn't 
sleep,  and  was  going  for  a  stroll  in  the  direction  of 
Sunnyside." 

"And  he  brought  it?" 

"Yes." 

"What  was  in  the  telegram  ?" 


88      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"I  can  tell  you — as  soon  as  certain  things  are  made 
public.  It  is  only  a  matter  of  days  now,"  gloomily. 

"And  Gertrude's  story  of  a. telephone  message?" 

"Poor  Trude!"  he  half  whispered.  "Poor  loyal  lit- 
tle girl !  Aunt  Ray,  there  was  no  such  message.  No 
doubt  your  detective  already  knows  that  and  discredits 
all  Gertrude  told  him." 

"And  when  she  went  back,  it  was  to  get — the  tele- 
gram ?" 

"Probably,"  Halsey  said  slowly.  "When  you  get 
to  thinking  about  it,  Aunt  Ray,  it  looks  bad  for  all 
three  of  us,  doesn't  it  ?  And  yet — I  will  take  my  oath 
none  of  us  even  inadvertently  killed  that  poor  devil." 

I  looked  at  the  closed  door  into  Gertrude's  dressing- 
room,  and  lowered  my  voice. 

"The  same  horrible  thought  keeps  recurring  to 
me,"  I  whispered.  "Halsey,  Gertrude  probably  had 
your  revolver:  she  must  have  examined  it,  anyhow, 
that  night  After  you — and  Jack  had  gone,  what  if 
— that  ruffian  came  back,  and  she — and  she — " 

I  couldn't  finish.  Halsey  stood  looking  at  me  with 
shut  lips. 

"She  might  have  heard  him  fumbling  at  the  door — 
he  had  HO  key,  the  police  say — and  thinking  it  was 
you,  or  Jack,  she  admitted  him.  When  she  saw  her 
mistake  she  ran  up  the  stairs,  a  step  or  two,  and  turn- 
ing, like  an  animal  at  bay,  she  fired." 

Halsey  had  his  hand  over  my  lips  before  I  finished, 
and  in  that  position  we  stared  each  at  the  other,  our 
stricken  glances  crossing. 


JUST  LIKE  A  GIRL 89 

"The  revolver — my  revolver — thrown  into  the  tulip 
bed !"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "Thrown  perhaps  from 
an  upper  window :  you  say  it  was  buried  deep.  Her 
prostration  ever  since,  her — Aunt  Ray,  you  don't 
think  it  was  Gertrude  who  fell  down  the  clothes  chute  ?" 

I  could  only  nod  my  head  in  a  hopeless  affirmative.  - 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  TRADERS'  BANK 

THE  morning  after  Halsey's  return  was  Tuesday. 
Arnold  Armstrong  had  been  found  dead  at  the 
foot  of  the  circular  staircase  at  three  o'clock  on  Sun- 
day morning.  The  funeral  services  were  to  be  held 
on  Tuesday,  and  the  interment  of  the  body  was  to  be 
deferred  until  the  Armstrongs  arrived  from  California. 
No  one,  I  think,  was  very  sorry  that  Arnold  Arm- 
strong was  dead,  but  the  manner  of  his  death  aroused 
some  sympathy  and  an  enormous  amount  of  curiosity. 
Mrs.  Ogden  Fitzhugh,  a  cousin,  took  charge  of  the 
arrangements,  and  everything,  I  believe,  was  as  quiet 
as  possible.  I  gave  Thomas  Johnson  and  Mrs.  Wat- 
son permission  to  go  into  town  to  pay  their  last  re- 
spects to  the  dead  man,  but  for  some  reason  they  did 
not  care  to  go. 

Halsey  spent  part  of  the  day  with  Mr.  Jamieson, 
but  he  said  nothing  of  what  happened.  He  looked 
grave  and  anxious,  and  he  had  a  long  conversation 
with  Gertrude  late  in  the  afternoon. 

Tuesday  evening  found  us  quiet,  with  the  quiet  that 
precedes  an  explosion.  Gertrude  and  Halsey  were 
both  gloomy  and  distraught,  and  as  Liddy  had  already 
discovered  that  some  of  the  china  was  broken — it  is 
impossible  to  have  any  secrets  from  an  old  servant — I 
90 


THE  TRADERS'  BANK 91 

was  not  in  a  pleasant  humor  myself.  Warner  brought 
up  the  afternoon  mail  and  the  evening  papers  at  seven 
— I  was  curious  to  know  what  the  papers  said  of  the 
murder.  We  had  turned  away  at  least  a  dozen  report- 
ers. But  I  read  over  the  head-line  that  ran  half-way 
across  the  top  of  the  Gazette  twice  before  I  compre- 
hended it.  Halsey  had  opened  the  Chronicle  and  was 
staring  at  it  fixedly. 

"The  Traders'  Bank  closes  its  doors !"  was  what  I 
read,  and  then  I  put  down  the  paper  and  looked  across 
the  table. 

"Did  you  know  of  this  ?"  I  asked  Halsey. 

"I — expected  it.     But  not  so  soon,"  he  replied. 

"And  you?"  to  Gertrude. 

"Jack — told  us — something,"  Gertrude  said  faintly. 
"Oh,  Halsey,  what  can  he  do  now?" 

"Jack!"  I  said  scornfully.  "Your  Jack's  flight  is 
easy  enough  to  explain  now.  And  you  helped  him, 
both  of  you,  to  get  away!  You  get  that  from  your 
mother;  it  isn't  an  Innes  trait.  Do  you  know  that 
every  dollar  you  have,  both  of  you,  is  in  that 
bank?" 

Gertrude  tried  to  speak,  but  Halsey  stopped  her. 

"That  isn't  all,  Gertrude,"  he  said  quietly;  "Jack  is 
— under  arrest." 

"Under  arrest!"  Gertrude  screamed,  and  tore  the 
paper  out  of  his  hand.  She  glanced  at  the  heading, 
then  she  crumpled  the  newspaper  into  a  ball  and  flung 
it  to  the  floor.  While  Halsey,  looking  stricken  and 
white,  was  trying  to  smooth  it  out  and  read  it,  Ger- 


92      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

trude  had  dropped  her  head  on  the  table  and  was 
sobbing  stormily. 

I  have  the  clipping  somewhere,  but  just  now  I  can 
remember  only  the  essentials. 

On  the  afternoon  before,  Monday,  while  the  Trad- 
ers' Bank  was  in  the  rush  of  closing  hour,  between 
two  and  three,  Mr.  Jacob  Trautman,  President  of  the 
Pearl  Brewing  Company,  came  into  the  bank  to  lift  a 
loan.  As  security  for  the  loan  he  had  deposited  some 
three  hundred  International  Steamship  Company  5's, 
in  total  value  three  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Mr. 
Trautman  went  to  the  loan  clerk  and,  after  certain 
formalities  had  been  gone  through,  the  loan  clerk  went 
to  the  vault.  Mr.  Trautman,  who  was  a  large  and 
genial  German,  waited  for  a  time,  whistling  under  his 
breath.  The  loan  clerk  did  not  come  back.  After  an 
interval,  Mr.  Trautman  saw  the  loan  clerk  emerge 
from  the  vault  and  go  to  the  assistant  cashier:  the 
two  went  hurriedly  to  the  vault.  A  lapse  of  another 
ten  minutes,  and  the  assistant  cashier  came  out  and 
approached  Mr.  Trautman.  He  was  noticeably  white 
and  trembling.  Mr.  Trautman  was  told  that  through 
an  oversight  the  bonds  had  been  misplaced,  and  was 
asked  to  return  the  following  morning,  when  every- 
thing would  be  made  all  right. 

Mr.  Trautman,  however,  was  a  shrewd  business  man, 
and  he  did  not  like  the  appearance  of  things.  He 
left  the  bank  apparently  satisfied,  and  within  thirty 
minutes  he  had  called  up  three  different  members  of 
the  Traders'  Board  of  Directors.  At  three-thirty 


THE  TRADERS'  BANK 93 

there  was  a  hastily  convened  board  meeting,  with  some 
stormy  scenes,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  a  national 
bank  examiner  was  in  possession  of  the  books.  The 
bank  had  not  opened  for  business  on  Tuesday. 

At  twelve-thirty  o'clock  the  Saturday  before,  as 
soon  as  the  business  of  the  day  was  closed,  Mr.  John 
Bailey,  the  cashier  of  the  defunct  bank,  had  taken  his 
hat  and  departed.  During  the  afternoon  he  had  called 
up  Mr.  Aronson,  a  member  of  the  board,  and  said  he 
was  ill,  and  might  not  be  at  the  bank  for  a  day  or  two. 
As  Bailey  was  highly  thought  of,  Mr.  Aronson  merely 
expressed  a  regret.  From  that  time  until  Monday 
night,  when  Mr.  Bailey  had  surrendered  to  the  police, 
little  was  known  of  his  movements.  Some  time  after 
one  on  Saturday  he  had  entered  the  Western  Union 
office  at  Cherry  and  White  Streets  and  had  sent  two 
telegrams.  He  was  at  the  Greenwood  Country  Club 
on  Saturday  night,  and  appeared  unlike  himself.  It 
was  reported  that  he  would  be  released  under  enor- 
mous bond,  some  time  that  day,  Tuesday. 

The  article  closed  by  saying  that  while  the  officers 
of  the  bank  refused  to  talk  until  the  examiner  had 
finished  his  work,  it  was  known  that  securities  aggre- 
gating a  million  and  a  quarter  were  missing.  Then 
there  was  a  diatribe  on  the  possibility  of  such  an  oc- 
currence; on  the  folly  of  a  one-man  bank,  and  of  a 
Board  of  Directors  that  met  only  to  lunch  together 
and  to  listen  to  a  brief  report  from  the  cashier,  and  on 
the  poor  policy  of  a  government  that  arranges  a  three- 
or  four-day  examination  twice  a  year.  The  mystery, 


94      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

it  insinuated,  had  not  been  cleared  by  the  arrest  of  the 
cashier.  Before  now  minor  officials  had  been  used  to 
cloak  the  misdeeds  of  men  higher  up.  Inseparable  as 
the  words  "speculation"  and  "peculation"  have  grown 
to  be,  John  Bailey  was  not  known  to  be  in  the  stock 
market.  His  only  words,  after  his  surrender,  had  been 
"Send  for  Mr.  Armstrong  at  once."  The  telegraph 
message  which  had  finally  reached  the  President  of  the 
Traders'  Bank,  in  an  interior  town  in  California,  had 
been  responded  to  by  a  telegram  from  Doctor  Walker, 
the  young  physician  who  was  traveling  with  the  Arm- 
strong family,  saying  that  Paul  Armstrong  was  very 
ill  and  unable  to  travel. 

That  was  how  things  stood  that  Tuesday  evening. 
The  Traders'  Bank  had  suspended  payment,  and  John 
Bailey  was  under  arrest,  charged  with  wrecking  it; 
Paul  Armstrong  lay  very  ill  in  California,  and  his  only 
son  had  been  murdered  two  days  before.  I  sat  dazed 
and  bewildered.  The  children's  money  was  gone :  that 
was  bad  enough,  though  I  had  plenty,  if  they  would 
let  me  share.  But  Gertrude's  grief  was  beyond  any 
power  of  mine  to  comfort;  the  man  she  had  chosen 
stood  accused  of  a  colossal  embezzlement — and  even 
worse.  For  in  the  instant  that  I  sat  there  I  seemed  to 
see  the  coils  closing  around  John  Bailey  as  the  mur- 
derer of  Arnold  Armstrong. 

Gertrude  lifted  her  head  at  last  and  stared  across 
the  table  at  Halsey. 

"Why  did  he  do  it  ?"  she  wailed.  "Couldn't  you  stop 
him,  Halsey?  It  was  suicidal  to  go  back!" 


THE  TRADERS'  BANK 95 

Halsey  was  looking  steadily  through  the  windows 
of  the  breakfast-room,  but  it  was  evident  he  saw 
nothing. 

"It  was  the  only  thing  he  could  do,  Trude,"  he  said 
at  last.  "A'unt  Ray,  when  I  found  Jack  at  the  Green- 
wood Club  last  Saturday  night,  he  was  frantic.  I  can 
not  talk  until  Jack  tells  me  I  may,  but — he  is  abso- 
lutely innocent  of  all  this,  believe  me.  I  thought, 
Trude  and  I  thought,  we  were  helping  him,  but  it  was 
the  wrong  way.  He  came  back.  Isn't  that  the  act  of 
an  innocent  man?" 

"Then  why  did  he  leave  at  all?"  I  asked,  uncon- 
vinced. "What  innocent  man  would  run  away  from 
here  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning?  Doesn't  it  look 
rather  as  though  he  thought  it  impossible  to  escape?" 

Gertrude  rose  angrily.  "You  are  not  even  just!" 
she  flamed.  "You  don't  know  anything  about  it,  and 
you  condemn  him !" 

"I  know  that  we  have  all  lost  a  great  deal  of  money," 
I  said.  "I  shall  believe  Mr.  Bailey  innocent  the  mo- 
ment he  is  shown  to  be.  You  profess  to  know  the 
truth,  but  you  can  not  tell  me!  What  am  I  to  think?" 

Halsey  leaned  over  and  patted  my  hand. 

"You  must  take  us  on  faith,"  he  said.  "Jack  Bailey 
hasn't  a  penny  that  doesn't  belong  to  him;  the  guilty 
man  will  be  known  in  a  day  or  so." 

"I  shall  believe  that  when  it  is  proved,"  I  said 
grimly.  "In  the  meantime,  I  take  no  one  on  faith. 
The  Inneses  never  do." 

Gertrude,  who  had  been  standing  aloof  at  a  win- 


96      THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

dow,  turned  suddenly.  "But  when  the  bonds  are 
offered  for  sale,  Halsey,  won't  the  thief  be  detected  at 
once?" 

Halsey  turned  with  a  superior  smile. 

"It  wouldn't  be  done  that  way,"  he  said.  "They 
would  be  taken  out  of  the  vault  by  some  one  who  had 
access  to  it,  and  used  as  collateral  for  a  loan  in  an- 
other bank.  It  would  be  possible  to  realize  eighty  per 
cent,  of  their  face  value." 

"In  cash?" 

"In  cash." 

"But  the  man  who  did  it — he  would  be  known  ?" 

"Yes.  I  tell  you  both,  as  sure  as  I  stand  here,  I 
believe  that  Paul  Armstrong  looted  his  own  bank.  I 
believe  he  has  a  million  at  least,  as  the  result,  and  that 
he  will  never  come  back.  I'm  worse  than  a  pauper 
now.  I  can't  ask  Louise  to  share  nothing  a  year  with 
me,  and  when  I  think  of  this  disgrace  for  her,  I'm 
crazy." 

The  most  ordinary  events  of  life  seemed  pregnant 
with  possibilities  that  day,  and  when  Halsey  was 
called  to  the  telephone,  I  ceased  all  pretense  at  eating. 
When  he  came  back  from  the  telephone  his  face  showed 
that  something  had  occurred.  He  waited,  however, 
until  Thomas  left  the  dining-room;  then  he  told 
us. 

"Paul  Armstrong  is  dead,"  he  announced  gravely. 
"He  died  this  morning  in  California.  Whatever  he 
did,  he  is  beyond  the  law  now." 

Gertrude  turned  pale. 


THE  TRADERS'  BANK 97 

"And  the  only  man  who  could  have  cleared  Jack 
can  never  do  it !"  she  said  despairingly. 

"Also,"  I  replied  coldly,  "Mr.  Armstrong  is  for 
ever  beyond  the  power  of  defending  himself.  When 
your  Jack  comes  to  me,  with  some  two  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars  in  his  hands,  which  is  about  what  you 
jaave  lost,  I  shall  believe  him  innocent." 

Halsey  threw  his  cigarette  away  and  turned  on  me. 

"There  you  go !"  he  exclaimed.  "If  he  was  the  thief, 
he  could  return  the  money,  of  course.  If  he  is  inno- 
cent, he  probably  hasn't  a  tenth  of  that  amount  in  the 
world.  In  his  hands!  That's  like  a  woman." 

Gertrude,  who  had  been  pale  and  despairing  during 
the  early  part  of  the  conversation,  had  flushed  an  in- 
dignant red.  She  got  up  and  drew  herself  to  her 
slender  height,  looking  down  at  me  with  the  scorn  of 
the  young  and  positive. 

"You  are  the  only  mother  I  ever  had,"  she  said 
tensely.  "I  have  given  you  all  I  would  have  given  my 
mother,  had  she  lived — my  love,  my  trust.  And  now, 
when  I  need  you  most,  you  fail  me.  I  tell  you,  John 
Bailey  is  a  good  man,  an  honest  man.  If  you  say  he 
is  not,  you — you — " 

"Gertrude,"  Halsey  broke  in  sharply.  She  dropped 
beside  the  table  and,  burying  her  face  in  her  arms, 
broke  into  a  storm  of  tears. 

"I  love  him — love  him,"  she  sobbed,  in  a  surrender 
that  was  totally  unlike  her.  "Oh,  I  never  thought  it 
would  be  like  this." 

Halsey  and  I  stood  helpless  before  the  storm  of  her 


98       THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

emotion.  I  would  have  soothed  her,  but  she  had  put 
me  away,  and  there  was  something  aloof  in  her  grief, 
something  new  and  strange.  At  last,  when  her  sorrow 
had  subsided  to  the  dry  shaking  sobs  of  a  tired  child, 
without  raising  her  head,  she  put  out  one  groping 
hand. 

"Aunt  Ray !"  she  whispered.  In  a  moment  I  was  on 
my  knees  beside  her,  her  arm  around  my  neck,  her 
cheek  against  my  hair. 

"Where  am  I,  in  this?"  Halsey  said  suddenly,  and 
tried  to  put  his  arms  around  us  both.  It  was  a  wel- 
come distraction,  and  Gertrude  was  soon  herself  again. 
The  little  storm  had  cleared  the  air.  Nevertheless,  my 
opinion  remained  unchanged.  There  was  much  to  be 
cleared  up  before  I  would  consent  to  any  renewal  of 
my  acquaintance  with  John  Bailey.  And  Halsey  and 
Gertrude  knew  it,  knowing  me. 


CHAPTER  XI 

HALSEY   MAKES   A   CAPTURE 

IT  was  about  half-past  eightrwhen  we  left  the  dining- 
room,  and  still  engrossed  with  one  subject,  the 
failure  of  the  bank  and  its  attendant  evils,  Halsey  and 
I  went  out  into  the  grounds  for  a  stroll.  Gertrude 
followed  us  shortly.  "The  light  was  thickening,"  to 
appropriate  Shakespeare's  description  of  twilight,  and 
once  again  the  tree-toads  and  the  crickets  were  mak- 
ing night  throb  with  their  tiny  life.  It  was  almost 
oppressively  lonely,  in  spite  of  its  beauty,  and  I  felt 
a  sickening  pang  of  homesickness  for  my  city  at  night 
— for  the  clatter  of  horses'  feet  on  cemented  paving, 
for  the  lights,  the  voices,  the  sound  of  children  play- 
ing. The  country  after  dark  oppresses  me.  The  stars, 
quite  eclipsed  in  the  city  by  the  electric  lights,  here  be- 
come insistent,  assertive.  Whether  I  want  to  or  not, 
I  find  myself  looking  for  the  few  I  know  by  name,  and 
feeling  ridiculously  new  and  small  by  contrast— always 
an  unpleasant  sensation. 

After  Gertrude  joined  us,  we  avoided  any  further 
mention  of  the  murder.  To  Halsey,  as  to  me,  there 
was  ever  present,  I  am  sure,  the  thought  of  our  con- 
versation of  the  night  before.  As  we  strolled  back 
and  forth  along  the  drive,  Mr.  Jamieson  emerged 
from  the  shadow  of  the  trees. 

99 


100    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"Good  evening,"  he  said,  managing  to  include  Ger- 
trude in  his  bow.  Gertrude  had  never  been  even 
ordinarily  courteous  to  him,  and  she  nodded  coldly. 
Halsey,  however,  was  more  cordial,  although  we  were 
all  constrained  enough.  He  and  Gertrude  went  on 
together,  leaving  the  detective  to  walk  with  me.  As 
soon  as  they  were  out  of  earshot,  he  turned  to  me. 

"Do  you  know,  Miss  Innes,"  he  said,  "the  deeper  I 
go  into  this  thing,  the  more  strange  it  seems  to  me.  I 
am  very  sorry  for  Miss  Gertrude.  It  looks  as  if 
Bailey,  whom  she  has  tried  so  hard  to  save,  is  worse 
than  a  rascal;  and  after  her  plucky  fight  for  him,  it 
seems  hard." 

I  looked  through  the  dusk  to  where  Gertrude's  light 
dinner  dress  gleamed  among  the  trees.  She  had  made 
a  plucky  fight,  poor  child.  Whatever  she  might  have 
been  driven  to  do,  I  could  find  nothing  but  a  deep 
sympathy  for  her.  If  she  had  only  come  to  me  with 
the  whole  truth  then ! 

"Miss  Innes,"  Mr.  Jamieson  was  saying,  "in  the 
last  three  days,  have  you  seen  a — any  suspicious  figures 
around  the  grounds  ?  Any — woman  ?" 

"No,"  I  replied.  "I  have  a  houseful  of  maids  that 
will  bear  watching,  one  and  all.  But  there  has  been 
no  strange  woman  near  the  house  or  Liddy  would  have 
seen  her,  you  may  be  sure.  She  has  a  telescopic  eye." 

Mr.  Jamieson  looked  thoughtful. 

"It  may  not  amount  to  anything,"  he  said  slowly. 
"It  is  difficult  to  get  any  perspective  on  things  around 
here,  because  every  one  down  in  the  village  is  sure  he 


HALSEY  MAKES  A  CAPTURE     101 

saw  the  murderer,  either  before  or  since  the  crime. 
And  half  of  them  will  stretch  a  point  or  two  as  to 
facts,  to  be  obliging.  But  the  man  who  drives  the  hack 
down  there  tells  a  story  that  may  possibly  prove  to  be 
important." 

"I  have  heard  it,  I  think.  Was  it  the  one  the  parlor 
maid  brought  up  yesterday,  about  a  ghost  wringing 
its  hands  on  the  roof?  Or  perhaps  it's  the  one  the 
milk-boy  heard :  a  tramp  washing  a  dirty  shirt,  pre- 
sumably bloody,  in  the  creek  below  the  bridge?" 

I  could  see  the  gleam  of  Mr.  Jamieson's  teeth,  as  he 
smiled. 

"Neither,"  he  said.  "But  Matthew  Geist,  which  is 
our  friend's  name,  claims  that  on  Saturday  night,  at 
nine-thirty,  a  veiled  lady — " 

"I  knew  it  would  be  a  veiled  lady,"  I  broke  in. 

"A  veiled  lady,"  he  persisted,  "who  was  apparently 
young  and  beautiful,  engaged  his  hack  and  asked  to 
be  driven  to  Sunnyside.  Near  the  gate,  however,  she 
made  him  stop,  in  spite  of  his  remonstrances,  saying 
she  preferred  to  walk  to  the  house.  She  paid  him,  and 
he  left  her  there.  Now,  Miss  Innes,  you  had  no  such 
visitor,  I  believe?" 

"None,"  I  said  decidedly. 

"Geist  thought  it  might  be  a  maid,  as  you  had  got 
a  supply  that  day.  But  he  said  her  getting  out  near 
the  gate  puzzled  him.  Anyhow,  we  have  now  one 
veiled  lady,  who,  with  the  ghostly  intruder  of  Friday 
night,  makes  two  assets  that  I  hardly  know  what  to  do 
with." 


102     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"It  is  mystifying,"  I  admitted,  "although  I  can 
think  of  one  possible  explanation.  The  path  from  the 
Greenwood  Club  to  the  village  enters  the  road  near 
the  lodge  gate.  A  woman  who  wished  to  reach  the 
Country  Club,  unperceived,  might  choose  such  a 
method.  There  are  plenty  of  women  there." 

I  think  this  gave  him  something  to  ponder,  for  in  a 
short  time  he  said  good  night  and  left.  But  I  myself 
was  far  from  satisfied.  I  was  determined,  however,  on 
one  thing.  If  my  suspicions — for  I  had  suspicions — 
were  true,  I  would  make  my  own  investigations,  and 
Mr.  Jamieson  should  learn  only  what  was  good  for 
him  to  know. 

We  went  back  to  the  house,  and  Gertrude,  who  was 
more  like  herself  since  her  talk  with  Halsey,  sat  down 
at  the  mahogany  desk  in  the  living-room  to  write  a 
letter.  Halsey  prowled  up  and  down  the  entire  east 
wing,  now  in  the  card-room,  now  in  the  billiard-room, 
and  now  and  then  blowing  his  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke 
among  the  pink  and  gold  hangings  of  the  drawing- 
room.  After  a  little  I  joined  him  in  the  billiard-room, 
and  together  we  went  over  the  details  of  the  discovery 
of  the  body. 

The  card-room  was  quite  dark.  Where  we  sat,  in 
the  billiard-room,  only  one  of  the  side  brackets  was 
lighted,  and  we  spoke  in  subdued  tones,  as  the  hour 
and  the  subject  seemed  to  demand.  When  I  spoke  of 
the  figure  Liddy  and  I  had  seen  on  the  porch  through 
the  card-room  window  Friday  night,  Halsey  saun- 
tered into  the  darkened  room,  and  together  we  stood 


HALSEY  MAKES  A  CAPTURE     103 

there,  much  as  Liddy  and  I  had  done  that  other  night. 

The  window  was  the  same  grayish  rectangle  in  the 
blackness  as  before.  A  few  feet  away  in  the  hall  was 
the  spot  where  the  body  of  Arnold  Armstrong  had 
been  found.  I  was  a  bit  nervous,  and  I  put  my  hand 
on  Halsey's  sleeve.  Suddenly,  from  the  top  of  the 
staircase  above  us  came  the  sound  of  a  cautious  foot- 
step. At  first  I  was  not  sure,  but  Halsey's  attitude 
told  me  he  had  heard  and  was  listening.  The  step, 
slow,  measured,  infinitely  cautious,  was  nearer  now. 
Halsey  tried  to  loosen  my  fingers,  but  I  was  in  a 
paralysis  of  fright. 

The  swish  of  a  body  against  the  curving  rail,  as  if 
for  guidance,  was  plain  enough,  and  now  whoever  it 
was  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  staircase  and  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  our  rigid  silhouettes  against  the 
billiard-room  doorway.  Halsey  threw  me  off  then  and 
strode  forward. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  called  imperiously,  and  took  a  half- 
dozen  rapid  strides  toward  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 
Then  I  heard  him  mutter  something;  there  was  the 
crash  of  a  falling  body,  the  slam  of  the  outer  door, 
and,  for  an  instant,  quiet.  I  screamed,  I  think.  Then 
I  remember  turning  on  the  lights  and  finding  Halsey, 
white  with  fury,  trying  to  untangle  himself  from 
something  warm  and  fleecy.  He  had  cut  his  forehead 
a  little  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  stairs,  and  he  was 
rather  a  ghastly  sight.  He  flung  the  white  object  at 
me,  and,  jerking  open  the  outer  door,  raced  into  the 
darkness. 


104     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

Gertrude  had  come  on  hearing  the  noise,  and  now 
we  stood,  staring  at  each  other  over — of  all  things  on 
earth — a  white  silk  and  wool  blanket,  exquisitely  fine ! 
It  was  the  most  unghostly  thing  in  the  world,  with  its 
lavender  border  and  its  faint  scent.  Gertrude  was  the 
first  to  speak. 

"Somebody — had  it?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.  Halsey  tried  to  stop  whoever  it  was  and  fell. 
Gertrude,  that  blanket  is  not  mine.  I  have  never  seen 
it  before." 

She  held  it  up  and  looked  at  it :  then  she  went  to  the 
door  on  to  the  veranda  and  threw  it  open.  Perhaps  a 
hundred  feet  from  the  house  were  two  figures,  that 
moved  slowly  toward  us  as  we  looked.  When  they 
came  within  range  of  the  light,  I  recognized  Halsey, 
and  with  him  Mrs.  Watson,  the  housekeeper. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ONE    MYSTERY    FOR   ANOTHER 

THE  most  commonplace  incident  takes  on  a  new 
appearance  if  the  attendant  circumstances  are  un- 
usual. There  was  no  reason  on  earth  why  Mrs.  Wat- 
son should  not  have  carried  a  blanket  down  the  east 
wing  staircase,  if  she  so  desired.  But  to  take  a  blanket 
down  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  with  every  precaution 
as  to  noise,  and,  when  discovered,  to  fling  it  at  Halsey 
and  bolt — Halsey's  word,  and  a  good  one — into  the 
grounds, — this  made  the  incident  more  than  signifi- 
cant. 

They  moved  slowly  across  the  lawn  and  up  the 
steps.  Halsey  was  talking  quietly,  and  Mrs.  Watson 
was  looking  down  and  listening.  She  was  a  woman  of 
a  certain  amount  of  dignity,  most  efficient,  so  far  as  I 
could  see,  although  Liddy  would  have  found  fault  if 
she  dared.  But  just  now  Mrs.  Watson's  face  was  an 
enigma.  She  was  defiant,  I  think,  under  her  mask  of 
submission,  and  she  still  showed  the  effect  of  nervous 
shock. 

"Mrs.  Watson,"  I  said  severely,  "will  you  be  so 
good  as  to  explain  this  rather  unusual  occurrence?" 

"I  don't  think  it  so  unusual,  Miss  Innes."  Her 
voice  was  deep  and  very  clear :  just  now  it  was  some- 
what tremulous.  "I  was  taking  a  blanket  down  to 

105 


106     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

Thomas,  who  is — not  well  to-night,  and  I  used  this 
staircase,  as  being  nearer  the  path  to  the  lodge. 
When — Mr.  Innes  called  and  then  rushed  at  me,  I — I 
was  alarmed,  and  flung  the  blanket  at  him." 

Halsey  was  examining  the  cut  on  his  forehead  in  a 
small  mirror  on  the  wall.  It  was  not  much  of  an  in- 
jury, but  it  had  bled  freely,  and  his  appearance  was 
rather  terrifying. 

"Thomas  ill?"  he  said,  over  his  shoulder.  "Why,  I 
thought  I  saw  Thomas  out  there  as  you  made  that 
cyclonic  break  out  of  the  door  and  over  the 
porch." 

I  could  see  that  under  pretense  of  examining  his 
injury  he  was  watching  her  through  the  mirror. 

"Is  this  one  of  the  servants'  blankets,  Mrs.  Wat- 
son?" I  asked,  holding  up  its  luxurious  folds  to  the 
light. 

"Everything  else  is  locked  away,"  she  replied. 
Which  was  true  enough,  no  doubt.  I  had  rented  the 
house  without  bed  furnishings. 

"If  Thomas  is  ill,"  Halsey  said,  "some  member  of 
the  family  ought  to  go  down  to  see  him.  You  needn't 
bother,  Mrs.  Watson.  I  will  take  the  blanket." 

She  drew  herself  up  quickly,  as  if  in  protest,  but 
she  found  nothing  to  say.  She  stood  smoothing  the 
folds  of  her  dead  black  dress,  her  face  as  white  as 
chalk  above  it.  Then  she  seemed  to  make  up  her 
mind. 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Innes,"  she  said.  "Perhaps  you 
would  better  go.  I  have  done  all  I  could." 


ONE  MYSTERY  FOR  ANOTHER  107 

And  then  she  turned  and  went  up  to  the  circular 
staircase,  moving  slowly  and  with  a  certain  dignity. 
Below,  the  three  of  us  stared  at  one  another  across 
the  intervening  white  blanket. 

"Upon  my  word,"  Halsey  broke  out,  "this  place  is 
a  walking  nightmare.  I  have  the  feeling  that  we  three 
outsiders  who  have  paid  our  money  for  the  privilege 
of  staying  in  this  spook-factory,  are  living  on  the 
very  top  of  things.  We're  on  the  lid,  so  to  speak. 
Now  and  then  we  get  a  sight  of  the  things  inside,  but 
we  are  not  a  part  of  them." 

"Do  you  suppose,"  Gertrude  asked  doubtfully, 
"that  she  really  meant  that  blanket  for  Thomas?" 

"Thomas  was  standing  beside  that  magnolia  tree," 
Halsey  replied,  "when  I  ran  after  Mrs.  Watson.  It's 
down  to  this,  Aunt  Ray.  Rosie's  basket  and  Mrs. 
Watson's  blanket  can  only  mean  one  thing:  there  is 
somebody  hiding  or  being  hidden  in  the  lodge.  It 
wouldn't  surprise  me  if  we  hold  the  key  to  the  whole 
situation  now.  Anyhow,  I'm  going  to  the  lodge  to 
investigate." 

Gertrude  wanted  to  go,  too,  but  she  looked  so 
shaken  that  I  insisted  she  should  not.  I  sent  for  Liddy 
to  help  her  to  bed,  and  then  Halsey  and  I  started  for 
the  lodge.  The  grass  was  heavy  with  dew,  and,  man- 
like, Halsey  chose  the  shortest  way  across  the  lawn. 
Half-way,  however,  he  stopped. 

"We'd  better  go  by  the  drive,"  he  said.  "This  isn't 
a  lawn ;  it's  a  field.  Where's  the  gardener  these  days  ?" 
(  "There  isn't  any,"  I  said  meekly.  "We  have  been 


108     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

thankful  enough,  so  far,  to  have  our  meals  prepared 
and  served  and  the  beds  aired.  The  gardener  who  be- 
longs here  is  working  at  the  club." 

"Remind  me  to-morrow  to  send  out  a  man  from 
town,"  he  said.  "I  know  the  very  fellow." 

I  record  this  scrap  of  conversation,  just  as  I  have 
tried  to  put  down  anything  and  everything  that  had 
a/ bearing  on  what  followed,  because  the  gardener  Hal- 
sey  sent  the  next  day  played  an  important  part  in  the 
events  of  the  next  few  weeks — events  that  culminated, 
as  you  know,  by  stirring  the  country  profoundly.  At 
that  time,  however,  I  was  busy  trying  to  keep  my 
skirts  dry,  and  paid  little  or  no  attention  to  what 
seemed  then  a  most  trivial  remark. 

Along  the  drive  I  showed  Halsey  where  I  had  found 
Rosie's  basket  with  the  bits  of  broken  china  piled 
inside.  He  was  rather  skeptical. 

"Warner  probably,"  he  said  when  I  had  finished. 
"Began  it  as  a  joke  on  Rosie,  and  ended  by  picking 
up  the  broken  china  out  of  the  road,  knowing  it  would 
play  hob  with  the  tires  of  the  car."  Which  shows 
how  near  one  can  come  to  the  truth,  and  yet  miss  i* 
altogether. 

At  the  lodge  everything  was  quiet.  There  was  a 
light  in  the  sitting-room  down-stairs,  and  a  faint 
gleam,  as  if  from  a  shaded  lamp,  in  one  of  the  upper 
rooms.  Halsey  stopped  and  examined  the  lodge  with 
calculating  eyes. 

"I  don't  know,  Aunt  Ray,"  he  said  dubiously;  "this 
is  hardly  a  woman's  affair.  If  there's  a  scrap  of  any 


'  ONE  MYSTERY  FOR  ANOTHER     109 

kind,  you  hike  for  the  timber."    Which  was  Halsey's 
solicitous  care  for  me,  put  into  vernacular. 

"I  shall  stay  right  here/'  I  said,  and  crossing  the 
small  veranda,  now  shaded  and  fragrant  with  honey- 
suckle, I  hammered  the  knocker  on  the  door. 

Thomas  opened  the  door  himself — Thomas,  fully 
dressed  and  in  his  customary  health.  I  had  the 
blanket  over  my  arm. 

"I  brought  the  blanket,  Thomas,"  I  said;  "I  am 
sorry  you  are  so  ill." 

The  old  man  stood  staring  at  me  and  then  at  the 
blanket.  His  confusion  under  other  circumstances 
would  have  been  ludicrous. 

"What!  Not  ill?"  Halsey  said  from  the  step. 
"Thomas,  I'm  afraid  you've  been  malingering." 

Thomas  seemed  to  have  been  debating  something 
with  himself.  Now  he  stepped  out  on  the  porch  and 
closed  the  door  gently  behind  him. 
/  "I  reckon  you  bettah  come  in,  Mis'  Innes,"  he  said, 
speaking  cautiously.  "It's  got  so  I  dunno  what  to  do, 
and  it's  boun'  to  come  out  some  time  er  ruther." 

He  threw  the  door  open  then,  and  I  stepped  inside, 
Halsey  close  behind.  In  the  sitting-room  the  old  negro 
turned  with  quiet  dignity  to  Halsey. 

"You  bettah  sit  down,  sah,"  he  said.  "It's  a  place 
for  a  woman,  sah." 

Things  were  not  turning  out  the  way  Halsey  ex- 
pected. He  sat  down  on  the  center-table,  with  his 
hands  thrust  in  his  pockets,  and  watched  me  as  I  fol- 
lowed Thomas  up  the  narrow  stairs.  At  the  top  a 


110  THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

woman  was  standing,  and  a  second  glance  showed  me 
it  was  Rosie.  She  shrank  back  a  little,  but  I  said 
nothing.  And  then  Thomas  motioned  to  a  partly  open 
door,  and  I  went  in. 

The  lodge  boasted  three  bedrooms  up-stairs,  all 
comfortably  furnished.  In  this  one,  the  largest  and 
airiest,  a  night  lamp  was  burning,  and  by  its  light  I 
could  make  out  a  plain  white  metal  bed.  A  girl  was 
asleep  there — or  in  a  half  stupor,  for  she  muttered 
something  now  and  then.  Rosie  had  taken  her  cour- 
age in  her  hands,  and  coming  in  had  turned  up  the 
light.  It  was  only  then  that  I  knew.  Fever-flushed, 

111  as  she  was,  I  recognized  Louise  Armstrong. 

I  stood  gazing  down  at  her  in  a  stupor  of  amaze- 
ment. Louise  here,  hiding  at  the  lodge,  ill  and  alone ! 
Rosie  came  up  to  the  bed  and  smoothed  the  white 
counterpane. 

"I  am  afraid  she  is  worse  to-night,"  she  ventured 
at  last.  I  put  my  hand  on  the  sick  girl's  forehead. 
It  was  burning  with  fever,  and  I  turned  to  where 
Thomas  lingered  in  the  hallway. 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  you  mean,  Thomas  John- 
son, by  not  telling  me  this  before?"  I  demanded  in- 
dignantly. 

Thomas  quailed. 

"Mis'  Louise  wouldn'  let  me,"  he  said  earnestly.  "I 
wanted  to.  She  ought  to  V  had  a  doctor  the  night  she 
came,  but  she  wouldn'  hear  to  it.  Is  she — is  she  very 
bad,  Mis'  Innes?" 

"Bad  enough,"  I  said  coldly.    "Send  Mr.  Innes  up." 


ONE  MYSTERY  FOR  ANOTHER     111 

Halsey  came  up  the  stairs  slowly,  looking  rather 
interested  and  inclined  to  be  amused.  For  a  moment 
he  could  not  see  anything  distinctly  in  the  darkened 
room;  he  stopped,  glanced  at  Rosie  and  at  me,  and 
then  his  eyes  fell  on  the  restless  head  on  the  pillow. 
I  think  he  felt  who  it  was  before  he  really  saw  her; 
he  crossed  the  room  in  a  couple  of  strides  and  bent 
over  the  bed. 

"Louise!"  he  said  softly;  but  she  did  not  reply,  and 
her  eyes  showed  no  recognition.  Halsey  was  young, 
and  illness  was  new  to  him.  He  straightened  himself 
slowly,  still  watching  her,  and  caught  my  arm. 

"She's  dying,  Aunt  Ray!"  he  said  huskily.  "Dying! 
Why,  she  doesn't  know  me !" 

"Fudge!"  I  snapped,  being  apt  to  grow  irritable 
when  my  sympathies  are  aroused.  "She's  doing  noth- 
ing of  the  sort, — and  don't  pinch  my  arm.  If  you 
want  something  to  do,  go  and  choke  Thomas." 

But  at  that  moment  Louise  roused  from  her  stupor 
to  cough,  and  at  the  end  of  the  paroxysm,  as  Rosie 
laid  her  back,  exhausted,  she  knew  us.  That  was  all 
Halsey  wanted;  to  him  consciousness  was  recovery. 
He  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  the  bed,  and  tried  to 
tell  her  she  was  all  right,  and  we  would  bring  her 
around  in  a  hurry,  and  how  beautiful  she  looked — 
only  to  break  down  utterly  and  have  to  stop.  And  at 
that  I  came  to  my  senses,  and  put  him  out. 

"This  instant!"  I  ordered,  as  he  hesitated.  "And 
send  Rosie  here." 

He  did  not  go  far.     He  sat  on  the  top  step  of  the 


112     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

stairs,  only  leaving  to  telephone  for  a  doctor,  and 
getting  in  everybody's  way  in  his  eagerness  to  fetch 
and  carry.  I  got  him  away  finally,  by  sending  him 
to  fix  up  the  car  as  a  sort  of  ambulance,  in  case  the 
doctor  would  allow  the  sick  girl  to  be  moved.  He  sent 
Gertrude  down  to  the  lodge  loaded  with  all  manner 
of  impossible  things,  including  an  armful  of  Turkish 
towels  and  a  box  of  mustard  plasters,  and  as  the  two 
girls  had  known  each  other  somewhat  before,  Louise 
brightened  perceptibly  when  she  saw  her. 

When  the  doctor  from  Englewood — the  Casanova 
doctor,  Doctor  Walker,  being  away — had  started  for 
Sunnyside,  and  I  had  got  Thomas  to  stop  trying  to 
explain  what  he  did  not  understand  himself,  I  had  a 
long  talk  with  the  old  man,  and  this  is  what  I  learned. 

On  Saturday  evening  before,  about  ten  o'clock,  he 
had  been  reading  in  the  'sitting-room  down-stairs,  when 
some  one  rapped  at  the  door.  The  old  man  was  alone, 
Warner  not  having  arrived,  and  at  first  he  was  uncer- 
tain about  opening  the  door.  He  did  so  finally,  and 
was  amazed  at  being  confronted  by  Louise  Arm- 
strong. Thomas  was  an  old  family  servant,  having 
been  with  the  present  Mrs.  Armstrong  since  she  was 
a  child,  and  he  was  overwhelmed  at  seeing  Louise.  He 
saw  that  she  was  excited  and  tired,  and  he  drew  her 
into  the  sitting-room  and  made  her  sit  down.  After  a 
while  he  went  to  the  house  and  brought  Mrs.  Watson, 
and  they  talked  until  late.  The  old  man  said  Louise 
was  in  trouble,  and  seemed  frightened.  Mrs.  Watson 
madt  some  tea  and  took  it  to  the  lodge,  but  Louise 


ONE  MYSTERY  FOR  ANOTHER     113 

made  them  both  promise  to  keep  her  presence  a  secret. 
She  had  not  known  that  Stmnyside  was  rented,  and 
whatever  her  trouble  was,  this  complicated  things.  She 
seemed  puzzled.  Her  stepfather  and  her  mother  were 
still  in  California — that  was  all  she  would  say  about 
them.  Why  she  had  run  away  no  one  could  imagine. 
Mr.  Arnold  Armstrong  was  at  the  Greenwood  Club,, 
and  at  last  Thomas,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  went 
over  there  along  the  path.  It  was  almost  midnight. 
Part- way  over  he  met  Armstrong  himself  and  brought 
him  to  the  lodge.  Mrs.  Watson  had  gone  to  the  house 
for  some  bed-linen,  it  having  been  arranged  that  un- 
der the  circumstances  Louise  would  be  better  at  the 
lodge  until  morning.  Arnold  Armstrong  and  Louise 
had  a  long  conference,  during  which  he  was  heard  to 
storm  and  become  very  violent.  When  he  left  it  was 
after  two.  He  had  gone  up  to  the  house — Thomas  did 
not  know  why — and  at  three  o'clock  he  was  shot  at 
the  foot  of  the  circular  staircase. 

The  following  morning  Louise  had  been  ill.  She 
had  asked  for  Arnold,  and  was  told  he  had  left  town. 
Thomas  had  not  the  moral  courage  to  tell  her  of  the 
crime.  She  refused  a  doctor,  and  shrank  morbidly 
from  having  her  presence  known.  Mrs.  Watson  and 
Thomas  had  had  their  hands  full,  and  at  last  Rosif 
had  been  enlisted  to  help  them.  She  carried  necessaq 
provisions — little  enough — to  the  lodge,  and  helped  tc 
keep  the  secret. 

Thomas  told  me  quite  frankly  that  he  had  been 
anxious  to  keep  Louise's  presence  hidden  for  this  rea- 


114     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

son :  they  had  all  seen  Arnold  Armstrong  that  night, 
and  he,  himself,  for  one,  was  known  to  have  had  no 
very  friendly  feeling  for  the  dead  man.  As  to  the 
reason  for  Louise's  flight  from  California,  or  why  she 
had  not  gone  to  the  Fitzhugh's,  or  to  some  of  her 
people  in  town,  he  had  no  more  information  than  I 
had.  With  the  death  of  her  stepfather  and  the  pros- 
pect of  the  immediate  return  of  the  family,  things  had 
become  more  and  more  impossible.  I  gathered  that 
Thomas  was  as  relieved  as  I  at  the  turn  events  had 
taken.  No,  she  did  not  know  of  either  of  the  deaths 
in  the  family. 

Taken  all  around,  I  had  only  substituted  one  mys- 
tery for  another.  If  I  knew  now  why  Rosie  had  taken 
the  basket  of  dishes,  I  did  not  know  who  had  spoken 
to  her  and  followed  her  along  the  drive.  If  I  knew 
that  Louise  was  in  the  lodge,  I  did  not  know  why  she 
was  there.  If  I  knew  that  Arnold  Armstrong  had 
spent  some  time  in  the  lodge  the  night  before  he  was 
murdered,  I  was  no  nearer  the  solution  of  the  crime. 
Who  was  the  midnight  intruder  who  had  so  alarmed 
Liddy  and  myself?  Who  had  fallen  down  the  clothes 
chute?  Was  Gertrude's  lover  a  villain  or  a  victim? 
Time  was  to  answer  all  these  things. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

LOUISE 

THE  doctor  from  Englewood  came  very  soon,  and 
I  went  up  to  see  the  sick  girl  with  him.  Halsey 
had  gone  to  supervise  the  fitting  of  the  car  with 
blankets  and  pillows,  and  Gertrude  was  opening  and 
airing  Louise's  own  rooms  at  the  house.  Her  private 
sitting-room,  bedroom  and  dressing-room  were  as  they 
had  been  when  we  came.  They  occupied  the  end 
of  the  east  wing,  beyond  the  circular  staircase,  and 
we  had  not  even  opened  them. 

The  girl  herself  was  too  ill  to  notice  what  was  being 
done.  When,  with  the  help  of  the  doctor,  who  was  a 
fatherly  man  with  a  family  of  girls  at  home,  we  got 
her  to  the  house  and  up  the  stairs  into  bed,  she 
dropped  into  a  feverish  sleep,  which  lasted  until  morn- 
ing. Doctor  Stewart — that  was  the  Englewood  doctor 
— stayed  almost  all  night,  giving  the  medicine  him- 
self, and  watching  her  closely.  Afterward  he  told  me 
that  she  had  had  a  narrow  escape  from  pneumonia, 
and  that  the  cerebral  symptoms  had  been  rather  alarm* 
ing.  I  said  I  was  glad  it  wasn't  an  "itis"  of  some 
kind,  anyhow,  and  he  smiled  solemnly. 

He  left  after  breakfast,  saying  that  he  thought  the 
worst  of  the  danger  was  over,  and  that  she  must  be 
kept  very  quiet. 

115 


116     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"The  shock  of  two  deaths,  I  suppose,  has  done  this," 
he  remarked,  picking  up  his  case.  "It  has  been  very 
deplorable." 

I  hastened  to  set  him  right. 

"She  does  not  know  of  either,  Doctor,"  I  said. 
"Please  do  not  mention  them  to  her." 

He  looked  as  surprised  as  a  medical  man  ever  does. 

"I  do  not  know  the  family,"  he  said,  preparing  to 
get  into  his  top  buggy.  "Young  Walker,  down  in 
Casanova,  has  been  attending  them.  I  understand  he 
is  going  to  marry  this  young  lady." 

"You  have  been  misinformed,"  I  said  stiffly.  "Miss 
Armstrong  is  going  to  marry  my  nephew." 

The  doctor  smiled  as  he  picked  up  the  reins. 

"Young  ladies  are  changeable  these  days,"  he  said. 
"We  thought  the  wedding  was  to  occur  soon.  Well,  I 
will  stop  in  this  afternoon  to  see  how  my  patient  is 
getting  along." 

He  drove  away  then,  and  I  stood  looking  after  him. 
He  was  a  doctor  of  the  old  school,  of  the  class  of  fam- 
ily practitioner  that  is  fast  dying  out:  a  loyal  and 
honorable  gentleman  who  was  at  once  physician  and 
confidential  adviser  to  his  patients.  When  I  was  a  girl 
we  called  in  the  doctor  alike  when  we  had  measles,  or 
when  mother's  sister  died  in  the  far  West.  He  cut  out 
redundant  tonsils  and  brought  the  babies  with  the 
same  air  of  inspiring  self-confidence.  Nowadays  it 
requires  a  different  specialist  for  each  of  these  occur- 
rences. When  the  babies  cried,  old  Doctor  Wain- 
wright  gave  them  peppermint  and  dropped  warm 


LOUISE  117 


sweet  oil  in  their  ears  with  sublime  faith  that  if  it 
was  not  colic  it  was  earache.  When,  at  the  end  of  a 
year,  father  met  him  driving  in  his  high  side-bar 
buggy  with  the  white  mare  ambling  along,  and  asked 
for  a  bill,  the  doctor  used  to  go  home,  estimate  what 
his  services  were  worth  for  that  period,  divide  it  in 
half — I  don't  think  he  kept  any  books — and  send 
father  a  statement,  in  a  cramped  hand,  on  a  sheet  of 
ruled  white  paper.  He  was  an  honored  guest  at  all  the 
weddings,  christenings,  and  funerals — yes,  funerals — 
for  every  one  knew  he  had  done  his  best,  and  there  was 
no  gainsaying  the  ways  of  Providence. 

Ah,  well,  Doctor  Wainwright  is  gone,  and  I  am  an 
elderly  woman  with  an  increasing  tendency  to  live  in 
the  past  The  contrast  between  my  old  doctor  at  home 
and  the  Casanova  doctor,  Frank  Walker,  always 
rouses  me  to  wrath  and  digression. 

Some  time  about  noon  of  that  day,  Wednesday,  Mrs. 
Ogden  Fitzhugh  telephoned  me.  I  have  the  barest 
acquaintance  with  her — she  managed  to  be  put  on  the 
governing  board  of  the  Old  Ladies'  Home  and  ruins 
their  digestions  by  sending  them  ice-cream  and  cake 
on  every  holiday.  Beyond  that,  and  her  reputation  at 
bridge,  which  is  insufferably  bad — she  is  the  worst 
player  at  the  bridge  club — I  know  little  of  her.  It 
was  she  who  had  taken  charge  of  Arnold  Armstrong's 
funeral,  however,  and  I  went  at  once  to  the  telephone. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "this  is  Miss  Innes." 

"Miss  Innes,"  she  said  volubly,  "I  have  just  re- 
ceived a  very  strange  telegram  from  my  cousin,  Mrs. 


118     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

Armstrong.  Her  husband  died  yesterday,  in  Cali- 
fornia and — wait,  I  will  read  you  the  message." 

I  knew  what  was  coming,  and  I  made  up  my  mind 
at  once.  If  Louise  Armstrong  had  a  good  and  suffi- 
cient reason  for  leaving  her  people  and  coming  home, 
a  reason,  moreover,  that  kept  her  from  going  at  once 
to  Mrs.  Ogden  Fitzhugh,  and  that  brought  her  to  the 
lodge  at  Sunnyside  instead,  it  was  not  my  intention  to 
betray  her.  Louise  herself  must  notify  her  people.  I 
do  not  justify  myself  now,  but  remember,  I  was  in  a 
peculiar  position  toward  the  Armstrong  family.  I  was 
connected  most  unpleasantly  with  a  cold-blooded 
crime,  and  my  niece  and  nephew  were  practically  beg- 
.gared,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  through  the  head 
of  the  family. 

Mrs.  Fitzhugh  had  found  the  message. 

"  Taul  died  yesterday.  Heart  disease,'  "  she  read. 
"  'Wire  at  once  if  Louise  is  with  you.'  You  see,  Miss 
Innes,  Louise  must  have  started  east,  and  Fanny  is 
alarmed  about  her." 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"Louise  is  not  here,"  Mrs.  Fitzhugh  went  on,  "and 
none  of  her  friends — the  few  who  are  still  in  town — 
has  seen  her.  I  called  you  because  Sunnyside  was  not 
rented  when  she  went  away,  and  Louise  might  have 
gone  there." 

"I  am  sorry,  Mrs.  Fitzhugh,  but  I  can  not  help 
you,"  I  said,  and  was  immediately  filled  with  com- 
punction. Suppose  Louise  grew  worse?  Who  was  I 
to  play  Providence  in  this  case?  The  anxious  mother 


LOUISE 


certainly  had  a  right  to  know  that  her  daughter  was 
in  good  hands.  So  I  broke  in  on  Mrs.  Fitzhugh's  volu- 
ble excuses  for  disturbing  me. 

"Mrs.  Fitzhugh,"  I  said.  "I  was  going  to  let  you 
think  I  knew  nothing  about  Louise  Armstrong,  but  I 
have  changed  my  mind.  Louise  is  here,  with  me." 
There  was  a  clatter  of  ejaculations  at  the  other  end 
of  the  wire.  "She  is  ill,  and  not  able  to  be  moved. 
Moreover,  she  is  unable  to  see  any  one.  I  wish  you 
would  wire  her  mother  that  she  is  with  me,  and  tell 
her  not  to  worry.  No,  I  do  not  know  why  she  came 
east." 

"But  my  dear  Miss  Innes!"  Mrs.  Fitzhugh  began. 
I  cut  in  ruthlessly. 

"I  will  send  for  you  as  soon  as  she  can  see  you,"  I 
said.  "No,  she  is  not  in  a  critical  state  now,  but  the 
doctor  says  she  must  have  absolute  quiet." 

When  I  had  hung  up  the  receiver,  I  sat  down  to 
think.  So  Louise  had  fled  from  her  people  in  Cali- 
fornia, and  had  come  east  alone!  It  was  not  a  new 
idea,  but  why  had  she  done  it?  It  occurred  to  me  that 
Doctor  Walker  might  be  concerned  in  it,  might  pos- 
sibly have  bothered  her  with  unwelcome  attentions;  but 
it  seemed  to  me  that  Louise  was  hardly  a  girl  to  take 
refuge  in  flight  under  such  circumstances.  She  had 
always  been  high-spirited,  with  the  well-poised  head 
and  buoyant  step  of  the  outdoors  girl.  It  must  have 
been  much  more  in  keeping  with  Louise's  character,  as 
I  knew  it,  to  resent  vigorously  any  unwelcome  atten- 
tions from  Doctor  Walker.  It  was  the  suitor  whom  I 


120     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

should  have  expected  to  see  in  headlong  flight,  not  the 
lady  in  the  case. 

The  puzzle  was  no  clearer  at  the  end  of  the  half- 
hour.  I  picked  up  the  morning  papers,  which  were 
still  full  of  the  looting  of  the  Traders'  Bank,  the  in- 
terest at  fever  height  again,  on  account  of  Paul  Arm- 
strong's death.  The  bank  examiners  were  working  on 
the  books,  and  said  nothing  for  publication :  John 
Bailey  had  been  released  on  bond.  The  body  of  Paul 
Armstrong  would  arrive  Sunday  and  would  be  buried 
from  the  Armstrong  town  house.  There  were  rumors 
that  the  dead  man's  estate  had  been  a  comparatively 
small  one.  The  last  paragraph  was  the  important  one. 

Walter  P.  Broadhurst,  of  the  Marine  Bank,  had 
produced  two  hundred  American  Traction  bonds, 
which  had  been  placed  as  security  with  the  Marine 
Bank  for  a  loan  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
dollars,  made  to  Paul  Armstrong,  just  before  his  Cali- 
fornia trip.  The  bonds  were  a  part  of  the  missing 
traction  bonds  from  the  Traders'  Bank!  While  this 
involved  the  late  president  of  the  wrecked  bank,  to 
my  mind  it  bj  no  means  cleared  its  cashier. 

The  gardener  mentioned  by  Halsey  came  out  about 
two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  walked  up  from  the 
station.  I  was  favorably  impressed  by  him.  His  refer- 
ences were  good — he  had  been  employed  by  the  Brays 
until  they  went  to  Europe,  and  he  looked  young  and 
vigorous.  He  asked  for  one  assistant,  and  I  was  glad 
enough  to  get  off  so  easily.  He  was  a  pleasant- faced 


LOUISE  121 


young  fellow,  with  black  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  his 
name  was  Alexander  Graham.  I  have  been  particular 
about  Alex,  because,  as  I  said  before,  he  played  an 
important  part  later. 

That  afternoon  I  had  a  new  insight  into  the  char- 
acter of  the  dead  banker.  I  had  my  first  conversation 
with  Louise.  She  sent  for  me,  and  against  my  better 
judgment  I  went.  There  were  so  many  things  she 
could  not  be  told,  in  her  weakened  condition,  that  I 
dreaded  the  interview.  It  was  much  easier  than  I  ex- 
pected, however,  because  she  asked  no  questions. 

Gertrude  had  gone  to  bed,  having  been  up  almost 
all  night,  and  Halsey  was  absent  on  one  of  those  mys- 
terious absences  of  his  that  grew  more  and  more  fre- 
quent as  time  went  on,  until  it  culminated  in  the  event 
of  the  night  of  June  the  tenth.  Liddy  was  in  attend- 
ance in  the  sick-room.  There  being  little  or  nothing 
to  do,  she  seemed  to  spend  her  time  smoothing  the 
wrinkles  from  the  counterpane.  Louise  lay  under  a 
field  of  virgin  white,  folded  back  at  an  angle  of  geo- 
metrical exactness,  and  necessitating  a  readjustment 
every  time  the  sick  girl  turned. 

Liddy  heard  my  approach  and  came  out  to  meet  me. 
She  seemed  to  be  in  a  perpetual  state  of  goose-flesh, 
and  she  had  got  in  the  habit  of  looking  past  me  when 
she  talked,  as  if  she  saw  things.  It  had  the  effect  of 
making  me  look  over  my  shoulder  to  see  what  she  was 
staring  at,  and  was  intensely  irritating. 

"She's  awake,"  Liddy  said,  looking  uneasily  down 


122     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

the  circular  staircase,  which  was  beside  me.  "She  was 
talkin'  in  her  sleep  something  awful — about  dead  men 
and  coffins." 

"Liddy,"  I  said  sternly,  "did  you  breathe  a  word 
about  everything  not  being  right  here?" 

Liddy's  gaze  had  wandered  to  the  door  of  the  chute, 
now  bolted  securely. 

"Not  a  word,"  she  said,  "beyond  asking  her  a  ques- 
tion or  two,  which  there  was  no  harm  in.  She  says 
there  never  was  a  ghost  known  here." 

"I  glared  at  her,  speechless,  and  closing  the  door 
into  Louise's  boudoir,  to  Liddy's  great  disappoint- 
ment, I  went  on  to  the  bedroom  beyond. 

Whatever  Paul  Armstrong  had  been,  he  had  been 
lavish  with  his  stepdaughter.  Gertrude's  rooms  at 
home  were  always  beautiful  apartments,  but  the  three 
rooms  in  the  east  wing  at  Sunnyside,  set  apart  for  the 
daughter  of  the  house,  were  much  more  splendid. 
From  the  walls  to  the  rugs  on  the  floor,  from  the  fur- 
niture to  the  appointments  of  the  bath,  with  its  pool 
sunk  in  the  floor  instead  of  the  customary  unlovely  tub, 
everything  was  luxurious.  In  the  bedroom  Louise 
was  watching  for  me.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  she  was 
much  improved;  the  flush  was  going,  and  the  peculiar 
gasping  breathing  of  the  night  before  was  now  a  com- 
fortable and  easy  respiration. 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  I  took  it  between  both  of 
mine. 

"What  can  I  say  to  you,  Miss  Innes?"  she  said 
slowly.  "To  have  come  like  this — " 


LOUISE  123 


I  thought  she  was  going  to  break  down,  but  she  did 
not. 

"You  are  not  to  think  of  anything  but  of  getting 
well,"  I  said,  patting  her  hand.  "When  you  are  bet- 
ter, I  am  going  to  scold  you  for  not  coming  here  at 
once.  This  is  your  home,  my  dear,  and  of  all  people  in 
the  world,  Halsey's  old  aunt  ought  to  make  you  wel- 
come." 

She  smiled  a  little,  sadly,  I  thought. 

"I  ought  not  to  see  Halsey,"  she  said.  "Miss  Innes, 
there  are  a  great  many  things  you  will  never  under- 
stand, I  am  afraid.  I  am  an  impostor  on  your  sym- 
pathy, because  I — I  stay  here  and  let  you  lavish  care 
on  me,  and  all  the  time  I  know  you  are  going  to  de- 
spise me." 

"Nonsense!"  I  said  briskly.  "Why,  what  would 
Halsey  do  to  me  if  I  even  ventured  such  a  thing? 
He  is  so  big  and  masterful  that  if  I  dared  to  be  any- 
thing but  rapturous  over  you,  he  would  throw  me  out 
of  a  window.  Indeed,  he  would  be  quite  capable  of 
it." 

She  seemed  scarcely  to  hear  my  facetious  tone.  She 
had  eloquent  brown  eyes — the  Inneses  are  fair,  and 
are  prone  to  a  grayish-green  optic  that  is  better  for 
use  than  appearance — and  they  seemed  now  to  be 
clouded  with  trouble. 

"Poor  Halsey !"  she  said  softly.  "Miss  Innes,  I  can 
not  marry  him,  and  I  am  afraid  to  tell  him.  I  am  a 
coward — a  coward!" 

I  sat  beside  the  bed  and  stared  at.her.    She  was  too 


124    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

ill  to  argue  with,  and,  besides,  sick  people  take  queer 
fancies. 

"We  will  talk  about  that  when  you  are  stronger,"  1 
said  gently. 

"But  there  are  some  things  I  must  tell  you,"  she 
insisted.  "You  must  wonder  how  I  came  here,  and 
why  I  stayed  hidden  at  the  lodge.  Dear  old  Thomas 
has  been  almost  crazy,  Miss  Innes.  I  did  not  know 
that  Sunnyside  was  rented.  I  knew  my  mother  wished 
to  rent  it,  without  telling  my — stepfather,  but  the  news 
must  have  reached  her  after  I  left.  When  I  started 
east,  I  had  only  one  idea — to  be  alone  with  my 
thoughts  for  a  time,  to  bury  myself  here.  Then,  I — 
must  have  taken  a  cold  on  the  train." 

"You  came  east  in  clothing  suitable  for  California," 
I  said,  "and,  like  all  young  girls  nowadays,  I  don't 
suppose  you  wear  flannels."  But  she  was  not  listening. 

"Miss  Innes,"  she  said,  "has  my  stepbrother  Arnold 
gone  away?" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  I  asked,  startled.  But  Louise 
was  literal. 

"He  didn't  come  back  that  night,"  she  said,  "and  it 
was  so  important  that  I  should  see  him." 

"I  believe  he  has  gone  away,"  I  replied  uncertainly. 
"Isn't  it  something  that  we  could  attend  to  instead?" 

But  she  shook  her  head.  "I  must  do  it  myself,"  she 
said  dully.  "My  mother  must  have  rented  Sunnyside 
without  telling  my  stepfather,  and — Miss  Innes,  did 
you  ever  hear  of  any  one  being  wretchedly  poor  in  the 
midst  of  luxury? 


LOUISE  125 


"Did  you  ever  long,  and  long,  for  money — money 
to  use  without  question,  money  that  no  one  would  take 
you  to  task  about?  My  mother  and  I  have  been  sur- 
rounded for  years  with  every  indulgence — everything1 
that  would  make  a  display.  But  we  have  never  had 
any  money,  Miss  Innes;  that  must  have  been  why 
mother  rented  this  house.  My  stepfather  pays  our 
bills.  It's  the  most  maddening,  humiliating  existence 
in  the  world.  I  would  love  honest  poverty  better." 

"Never  mind,"  I  said;  "when  you  and  Halsey  are 
married  you  can  be  as  honest  as  you  like,  and  you  will 
certainly  be  poor." 

Halsey  came  to  the  door  at  that  moment  and  I 
could  hear  him  coaxing  Liddy  for  admission  to  the 
sick  room. 

"Shall  I  bring  him  in?"  I  asked  Louise,  uncertain 
what  to  do.  The  girl  seemed  to  shrink  back  among 
her  pillows  at  the  sound  of  his  voice.  I  was  vaguely 
irritated  with  her;  there  are  few  young  fellows  like 
Halsey — straightforward,  honest,  and  willing  to  sac- 
rifice everything  for  the  one  woman.  I  knew  one  once, 
more  than  thirty  years  ago,  who  was  like  that :  he  died 
a  long  time  ago.  And  sometimes  I  take  out  his  pic- 
ture, with  its  cane  and  its  queer  silk  hat,  and  look  at  it. 
But  of  late  years  it  has  grown  too  painful:  he  is 
always  a  boy — and  I  am  an  old  woman.  I  would  not 
bring  him  back  if  I  could. 

Perhaps  it  was  some  such  memory  that  made  me 
call  out  sharply. 

"Come  in,  Halsey."     And  then  I  took  my  sewing 


126     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

and  went  into  the  boudoir  beyond,  to  play  propriety. 
I  did  not  try  to  hear  what  they  said,  but  every  word 
came  through  the  open  door  with  curious  distinctness. 
Halsey  had  evidently  gone  over  to  the  bed  and  I  sup- 
pose he  kissed  her.  There  was  silence  for  a  moment, 
as  if  words  were  superfluous  things. 

"I  have  been  almost  wild,  sweetheart," — Halsey's 
voice.  "Why  didn't  you  trust  me,  and  send  for  me 
before?" 

"It  was  because  I  couldn't  trust  myself,"  she  said 
in  a  low  tone.  "I  am  too  weak  to  struggle  to-day; 
oh,  Halsey,  how  I  have  wanted  to  see  you !" 

There  was  something  I  did  not  hear,  then  Halsey 
again. 

"We  could  go  away,"  he  was  saying.  "What  does 
it  matter  about  any  one  in  the  world  but  just  the  two 
of  us?  To  be  always  together,  like  this,  hand  in  hand ; 
Louise — don't  tell  me  it  isn't  going  to  be.  I  won't 
believe  you." 

"You  don't  know;  you  don't  know,"  Louise  repeated 
dully.  "Halsey,  I  care — you  know  that — but — not 
enough  to  marry  you." 

"That  is  not  true,  Louise,"  he  said  sternly.  "You 
can  not  look  at  me  with  your  honest  eyes  and  say 
that." 

"I  can  not  marry  you,"  she  repeated  miserably. 
"It's  bad  enough,  isn't  it?  Don't  make  it  worse. 
Some  day,  before  long,  you  will  be  glad." 

"Then  it  is  because  you  have  never  loved  me.'* 
There  were  depths  of  hurt  pride  in  his  voice.  "You 


LOUISE  127 


saw  how  much  I  loved  you,  and  you  let  me  think  you 
cared — for  a  while.  No — that  isn't  like  you,  Louise. 
There  is  something  you  haven't  told  me.  Is  it — be- 
cause there  is  some  one  else?" 

"Yes,"  almost  inaudibly. 

"Louise !     Oh,  I  don't  believe  it." 

"It  is  true,"  she  said  sadly.  "Halsey,  you  must  not 
try  to  see  me  again.  As  soon  as  I  can,  I  am  going 
away  from  here — where  you  are  all  so  much  kinder 
than  I  deserve.  And  whatever  you  hear  about  me,  try 
to  think  as  well  of  me  as  you  can.  I  am  going  to 
marry — another  man.  How  you  must  hate  me — hate 
me!" 

I  could  hear  Halsey  cross  the  room  to  the  window. 
Then,  after  a  pause,  he  went  back  to  her  again.  I 
could  hardly  sit  still;  I  wanted  to  go  in  and  give  her 
a  good  shaking. 

"Then  it's  all  over,"  he  was  saying  with  a  long 
breath.  "The  plans  we  made  together,  the  hopes,  the 
— all  of  it — over!  Well,  I'll  not  be  a  baby,  and  I'll 
give  you  up  the  minute  you  say  'I  don't  love  you  and 
I  do  love — some  one  else' !" 

"I  can  not  say  that,"  she  breathed,  "but,  very  soon, 
I  shall  marry — the  other  man." 

I  could  hear  Halsey' s  low  triumphant  laugh. 

"I  defy  him,"  he  said.  "Sweetheart,  as  long  as  you 
care  for  me,  I  am  not  afraid." 

The  wind  slammed  the  door  between  the  two  rooms 
just  then,  and  I  could  hear  nothing  more  although  I 
moved  my  chair  quite  close.  After  a  discreet  interval, 


128     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

I  went  into  the  other  room,  and  found  Louise  alone. 
She  was  staring  with  sad  eyes  at  the  cherub  painted  on 
the  ceiling  over  the  bed,  and  because  she  looked  tired 
I  did  not  disturb  her. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN    EGG-NOG    AND   A    TELEGRAM 

WE  had  discovered  Louise  at  the  lodge  Tuesday 
night.  It  was  Wednesday  I  had  my  interview 
with  her.  Thursday  and  Friday  were  uneventful,  save 
as  they  marked  improvement  in  our  petient.  Ger- 
trude spent  almost  all  the  time  with  her,  and  the  two 
had  grown  to  be  great  friends.  But  certain  things 
hung  over  me  constantly;  the  coroner's  inquest  on  the 
death  of  Arnold  Armstrong,  to  be  held  Saturday,  and 
the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  young  Doctor 
Walker,  bringing  the  body  of  the  dead  president  of 
the  Traders'  Bank.  We  had  not  told  Louise  of  either 
death. 

Then,  too,  I  was  anxious  about  the  children.  With 
their  mother's  inheritance  swept  away  in  the  wreck  of 
the  bank,  and  with  their  love  affairs  in  a  disastrous 
condition,  things  could  scarcely  be  worse.  Added  to 
that,  the  cook  and  Liddy  had  a  flare-up  over  the 
proper  way  to  make  beef-tea  for  Louise,  and,  of  course, 
the  cook  left. 

Mrs.  Watson  had  been  glad  enough,  I  think,  to 
turn  Louise  over  to  our  care,  and  Thomas  went  up- 
stairs night  and  morning  to  greet  his  young  mistress 
from  the  doorway.  Poor  Thomas !  He  had  the  fac- 
ulty— found  still  in  some  old  negroes,  who  cling  to 

129 


130    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

the  traditions  of  slavery  days — of  making  his  employ- 
er's interest  his.  It  was  always  "we"  with  Thomas. 
I  miss  him  sorely;  pipe-smoking,  obsequious,  not  over 
reliable,  kindly  old  man! 

On  Thursday  Mr.  Harton,  the  Armstrongs'  legal 
adviser,  called  up  from  town.  He  had  been  advised, 
he  said,  that  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  coming  east  with 
her  husband's  body  and  would  arrive  Monday.  He 
came  with  some  hesitation,  he  went  on,  to  the  fact  that 
he  had  been  further  instructed  to  ask  me  to  relinquish 
my  lease  on  Sunnyside,  as  it  was  Mrs.  Armstrong's 
desire  to  come  directly  there. 

I  was  aghast. 

"Here !"  I  said.  "Surely  you  are  mistaken,  Mr. 
Harton.  I  should  think,  after — what  happened  here 
only  a  few  days  ago,  she  would  never  wish  to  come 
back!" 

"Nevertheless,"  he  replied,  "she  is  most  anxious  to 
come.  This  is  what  she  says.  'Use  every  possible 
means  to  have  Sunnyside  vacated.  Must  go  there  at 
once.'" 

"Mr.  Harton,"  I  said  testily,  "I  am  not  going  to 
do  anything  of  the  kind.  I  and  mine  have  suffered 
enough  at  the  hands  of  this  family.  I  rented  the 
house  at  an  exorbitant  figure  and  I  have  moved  out 
here  for  the  summer.  My  city  home  is  dismantled  and 
m  the  hands  of  decorators.  I  have  been  here  one  week, 
during  which  I  have  had  not  a  single  night  of  unin- 
terrupted sleep,  and  I  intend  to  stay  until  I  have 
recuperated.  Moreover,  if  Mr.  Armstrong  died  in- 


AN  EGG-NOG  AND  A  TELEGRAM     131 

solvent,  as  I  believe  was  the  case,  his  widow  ought  to 
be  glad  to  be  rid  of  so  expensive  a  piece  of  property." 

The  lawyer  cleared  his  throat 

"I  am  very  sorry  you  have  made  this  decision,"  he 
said.  "Miss  Innes,  Mrs.  Fitzhugh  tells  me  Louise 
Armstrong  is  with  you." 

"She  is." 

"Has  she  been  informed  of  this — double  bereave- 
ment?" 

"Not  yet,"  I  said.  "She  has  been  very  ill;  perhaps 
to-night  she  can  be  told." 

"It  is  very  sad;  very  sad,"  he  said.  "I  have  a  tele- 
gram for  her,  Mrs.  Innes.  Shall  I  send  it  out?" 

"Better  open  it  and  read  it  to  me,"  I  suggested.  "If 
it  is  important,  that  will  save  time." 

There  was  a  pause  while  Mr.  Harton  opened  the 
telegram.  Then  he  read  it  slowly,  judicially. 

"  'Watch  for  Nina  Carrington.  Home  Monday. 
Signed  F.  L.  W.'  " 

"Hum !"  I  said.  "  'Watch  for  Nina  Carrington. 
Home  Monday.'  Very  well,  Mr.  Harton,  I  will  tell 
her,  but  she  is  not  in  condition  to  watch  for  any  one." 

"Well,  Miss  Innes,  if  you  decide  to — er — relin- 
quish the  lease,  let  me  know,"  the  lawyer  said. 

"I  shall  not  relinquish  it,"  I  replied,  and  I  imagined 
his  irritation  from  the  way  he  hung  up  the  receiver. 

I  wrote  the  telegram  down  word  for  word,  afraid 
to  trust  my  memory,  and  decided  to  ask  Doctor  Stew- 
art how  soon  Louise  might  be  told  the  truth.  The 
closing  of  the  Traders'  Bank  I  considered  unneces- 


132     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

sary  for  her  to  know,  but  the  death  of  her  stepfather 
and  stepbrother  must  be  broken  to  her  soon,  or  she 
might  hear  it  in  some  unexpected  and  shocking 
manner. 

Doctor  Stewart  came  about  four  o'clock,  bringing 
his  leather  satchel  into  the  house  with  a  great  deal  of 
care,  and  opening  it  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  show 
me  a  dozen  big  yellow  eggs  nesting  among  the  bottles. 

"Real  eggs,"  he  said  proudly.  "None  of  your 
anemic  store  eggs,  but  the  real  thing — some  of  them 
still  warm.  Feel  them !  Egg-nog  for  Miss  Louise." 

He  was  beaming  with  satisfaction,  and  before  he 
left,  he  insisted  on  going  back  to  the  pantry  and  mak- 
ing an  egg-nog  with  his  own  hands.  Somehow,  all  the 
time  he  was  doing  it,  I  had  a  vision  of  Doctor  Wil- 
loughby,  my  nerve  specialist  in  the  city,  trying  to 
make  an  egg-nog.  I  wondered  if  he  ever  prescribed 
anything  so  plebeian — and  so  delicious.  And  while 
Doctor  Stewart  whisked  the  eggs  he  talked. 

"I  said  to  Mrs.  Stewart,"  he  confided,  a  little  red  in 
the  face  from  the  exertion,  "after  I  went  home  tht 
other  day,  that  you  would  think  me  an  old  gossip,  for 
saying  what  I  did  about  Walker  and  Miss  Louise." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  I  protested. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  went  on,  evidently  justifying  him- 
self, "I  got  that  piece  of  information  just  as  we  get 
a  lot  of  things,  through  the  kitchen  end  of  the  house. 
Young  Walker's  chauffeur — Walker's  more  fashiona- 
ble than  I  am,  a,nd  he  goes  around  the  country  in  a 
Stanhope  car — well,  his  chauffeur  comes  to  see  our 


AN  EGG-NOG  AND  A  TELEGRAM    133 

servant  girl,  and  he  told  her  the  whole  thing.  I 
thought  it  was  probable,  because  Walker  spent  a  lot 
of  time  up  here  last  summer,  when  the  family  was 
here,  and  besides,  Riggs,  that's  Walker's  man,  had  a 
very  pat  little  story  about  the  doctor's  building  a 
house  on  this  property,  just  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
The  sugar,  please." 

The  egg-nog  was  finished.  Drop  by  drop  the 
liquor  had  cooked  the  egg,  and  now,  with  a  final  whisk, 
a  last  toss  in  the  shaker,  it  was  ready,  a  symphony 
in  gold  and  white.  The  doctor  sniffed  it. 

"Real  eggs,  real  milk,  and  a  touch  of  real  Ken- 
tucky whisky,"  he  said. 

He  insisted  on  carrying  it  up  himself,  but  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  he  paused. 

"Riggs  said  the  plans  were  drawn  for  the  house," 
he  said,  harking  back  to  the  old  subject.  "Drawn  by 
Huston  in  town.  So  I  naturally  believed  him." 

When  the  doctor  came  down,  I  was  ready  with  a 
question. 

"Doctor,"  I  asked,  "is  there  any  one  in  the  neigh- 
borhood named  Carrington?  Nina  Carrington?" 

"Carrington  ?"  He  wrinkled  his  forehead.  "Car- 
rington? No,  I  don't  remember  any  such  family. 
There  used  to  be  Covingtons  down  the  creek." 

"The  name  was  Carrington,"  I  said,  and  the  subject 
lapsed. 

Gertrude  and  Halsey  went  for  a  long  walk  that 
afternoon,  and  Louise  slept.  Time  hung  heavy  on  my 
hands,  and  I  did  as  I  had  fallen  into  a  habit  of  doing 


134     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

lately — I  sat  down  and  thought  things  over.  One  re- 
sult of  my  meditations  was  that  I  got  up  suddenly 
and  went  to  the  telephone.  I  had  taken  the  most  in- 
tense dislike  to  this  Doctor  Walker,  whom  I  had  never 
seen,  and  who  was  being  talked  of  in  the  countryside 
as  the  fiance  of  Louise  Armstrong. 

I  knew  Sam  Huston  well.  There  had  been  a  time, 
when  Sam  was  a  good  deal  younger  than  he  is  now, 
before  he  had  married  Anne  Endicott,  when  I  knew 
him  even  better.  So  now  I  felt  no  hesitation  in  calling 
him  over  the  telephone.  But  when  his  office  boy  had 
given  way  to  his  confidential  clerk,  and  that  function- 
ary had  condescended  to  connect  his  employer's  desk 
telephone,  I  was  somewhat  at  a  loss  as  to  how  to  begin. 

"Why,  how  are  you,  Rachel  ?"  Sam  said  sonorously. 
"Going  to  build  that  house  at  Rock  View?"  It  was 
a  twenty-year-old  joke  of  his. 

"Sometime,  perhaps,"  I  said.  "Just  now  I  want  to 
ask  you  a  question  about  something  which  is  none  of 
my  business." 

"I  see  you  haven't  changed  an  iota  in  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  Rachel."  This  was  intended  to  be  another 
jest.  "Ask  ahead:  everything  but  my  domestic  af- 
fairs is  at  your  service." 

"Try  to  be  serious,"  I  said.  "And  tell  me  this: 
has  your  firm  made  any  plans  for  a  house  recently,  for 
a  Doctor  Walker,  at  Casanova  ?" 

"Yes,  we  have." 

"Where  was  it  to  be  built?  I  have  a  reason  for 
asking." 


AN  EGG-NOG  AND  A  TELEGRAM     135 

"It  was  to  be,  I  believe,  on  the  Armstrong  place. 
Mr.  Armstrong  himself  consulted  me,  and  the  infer- 
ence was — in  fact,  I  am  quite  certain — the  house  was 
to  be  occupied  by  Mr.  Armstrong's  daughter,  who  was 
engaged  to  marry  Doctor  Walker." 

When  the  architect  had  inquired  for  the  different 
members  of  my  family,  and  had  finally  rung  off,  I  was 
certain  of  one  thing.  Louise  Armstrong  was  in  love 
with  Halsey,  and  the  man  she  was  going  to  marry 
was  Doctor  Walker.  Moreover,  this  decision  was  not 
new;  marriage  had  been  contemplated  for  some  time. 
There  must  certainly  be  some  explanation — but  what 
was  it? 

That  day  I  repeated  to  Louise  the  telegram  Mr. 
Harton  had  opened.  She  seemed  to  understand,  but 
an  unhappier  face  I  have  never  seen.  She  looked  like 
a  criminal  whose  reprieve  is  over,  and  the  day  of 
execution  approaching. 


CHAPTER  XV 

s. 

LIDDY   GIVES   THE   ALARM 

THE  next  day,  Friday,  Gertrude  broke  the  news 
of  her  stepfather's  death  to  Louise.  She  did  it 
as  gently  as  she  could,  telling  her  first  that  he  was 
very  ill,  and  finally  that  he  was  dead.  Louise  re- 
ceived the  news  in  the  most  unexpected  manner,  and 
when  Gertrude  came  out  to  tell  me  how  she  had  stood 
it,  I  think  she  was  almost  shocked. 

"She  just  lay  and  stared  at  me,  Aunt  Ray,"  she 
said.  "Do  you  know,  I  believe  she  is  glad,  glad !  And 
she  is  too  honest  to  pretend  anything  else.  What  sort 
of  man  was  Mr.  Paul  Armstrong,  anyhow?" 

"He  was  a  bully  as  well  as  a  rascal,  Gertrude,"  I 
said.  "But  I  am  convinced  of  one  thing;  Louise  will 
send  for  Halsey  now,  and  they  will  make  it  all  up." 

For  Louise  had  steadily  refused  to  see  Halsey  all 
that  day,  and  the  boy  was  frantic. 

We  had  a  quiet  hour,  Halsey  and  I,  that  evening, 
and  I  told  him  several  things;  about  the  request  that 
we  give  up  the  lease  to  Sunnyside,  about  the  telegram 
to  Louise,  about  the  rumors  of  an  approaching  mar- 
riage between  the  girl  and  Doctor  Walker,  and,  last 
of  all,  my  own  interview  with  her  the  day  before. 

He  sat  back  in  a  big  chair,  with  his  face  in  the 
shadow,  and  my  heart  fairly  ached  for  him.  He  was 

136 


LIDDY  GIVES  THE  ALARM     137 

so  big  and  so  boyish!  When  I  had  finished  he  drew 
a  long  breath. 

"Whatever  Louise  does,"  he  said,  "nothing  will 
convince  me,  Aunt  Ray,  that  she  doesn't  care  for  me. 
And  up  to  two  months  ago,  when  she  and  her  mother 
went  west,  I  was  the  happiest  fellow  on  earth.  Then 
something  made  a  difference :  she  wrote  me  that  her 
people  were  opposed  to  the  marriage ;  that  her  feeling 
for  me  was  what  it  had  always  been,  but  that  some- 
thing had  happened  which  had  changed  her  ideas  as 
to  the  future.  I  was  not  to  write  until  she  wrote  me, 
and  whatever  occurred,  I  was  to  think  the  best  1  could 
of  her.  It  sounded  like  a  puzzle.  When  I  saw  her 
yesterday,  it  was  the  same  thing,  only,  perhaps, 
worse." 

"Halsey,"  I  asked,  "have  you  any  idea  of  the  na- 
ture of  the  interview  between  Louise  Armstrong  and 
Arnold  the  night  he  was  murdered?" 

"It  was  stormy.  Thomas  says  once  or  twice  he 
almost  broke  into  the  room,  he  was  so  alarmed  for 
Louise." 

"Another  thing,  Halsey,"  I  said,  "have  you  ever 
heard  Louise  mention  a  woman  named  Carrington, 
Nina  Carrington?" 

"Never,"  he  said  positively. 

For  try  as  we  would,  our  thoughts  always  came 
back  to  that  fatal  Saturday  night,  and  the  murder. 
Every  conversational  path  led  to  it,  and  we  all  felt 
that  Jamieson  was  tightening  the  threads  of  evidence 
around  John  Bailey.  The  detective's  absence  was 


138     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

hardly  reassuring;  he  must  have  had  something  to 
work  on  in  town,  or  he  would  have  returned. 

The  papers  reported  that  the  cashier  of  the 
Traders'  Bank  was  ill  in  his  apartments  at  the  Knick- 
erbocker— a  condition  not  surprising,  considering 
everything.  The  guilt  of  the  defunct  president  was  no 
longer  in  doubt;  the  missing  bonds  had  been  adver- 
tised and  some  of  them  discovered.  In  every  instance 
they  had  been  used  as  collateral  for  large  loans,  and 
the  belief  was  current  that  not  less  than  a  million  and 
a  half  dollars  had  been  realized.  Every  one  connected 
with  the  bank  had  been  placed  under  arrest,  and  re- 
leased on  heavy  bond. 

Was  he  alone  in  his  guilt,  or  was  the  cashier  his  ac- 
complice ?  Where  was  the  money  ?  The  estate  of  the 
dead  man  was  comparatively  small — a  city  house  on  a 
fashionable  street,  Sunnyside,  a  large  estate  largely 
mortgaged,  an  insurance  of  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and 
some  personal  property — this  was  all.  The  rest  lost 
in  speculation  probably,  the  papers  said.  There  was 
one  thing  which  looked  uncomfortable  for  Jack  Bai- 
ley :  he  and  Paul  Armstrong  together  had  promoted  a 
railroad  company  in  New  Mexico,  and  it  was  rumored 
that  together  they  had  sunk  large  sums  of  money 
there.  The  business  alliance  between  the  two  men 
added  to  the  belief  that  Bailey  knew  something  of  the 
looting.  His  unexplained  absence  from  the  bank  on 
Monday  lent  color  to  the  suspicion  against  him.  The 
strange  thing  seemed  to  be  his  surrendering  himself 
on  the  point  of  departure.  To  me,  it  seemed  the 


LIDDY  GIVES  THE  ALARM    139 

shrewd  calculation  of  a  clever  rascal.  I  was  not  ac- 
tively antagonistic  to  Gertrude's  lover,  but  I  meant 
to  be  convinced,  one  way  or  the  other.  I  took  no  one 
on  faith. 

That  night  the  Sunnyside  ghost  began  to  walk 
again.  Liddy  had  been  sleeping  in  Louise's  dressing- 
room  on  a  couch,  and  the  approach  of  dusk  was  a  sig- 
nal for  her  to  barricade  the  entire  suite.  Situated  as  it 
was,  beyond  the  circular  staircase,  nothing  but  an 
extremity  of  excitement  would  have  made  her  pass  it 
after  dark.  I  confess  myself  that  the  place  seemed  to 
me  to  have  a  sinister  appearance,  but  we  kept  that 
wing  well  lighted,  and  until  the  lights  went  out  at 
midnight  it  was  really  cheerful,  if  one  did  not  know 
its  history. 

On  Friday  night,  then,  I  had  gone  to  bed,  resolved 
to  go  at  once  to  sleep.  Thoughts  that  insisted  on  ob- 
truding themselves  I  pushed  resolutely  to  the  back  of 
my  mind,  and  I  systematically  relaxed  every  muscle. 
I  fell  asleep  soon,  and  was  dreaming  that  Doctor 
Walker  was  building  his  new  house  immediately  in 
front  of  my  windows:  I  could  hear  the  thump-thump 
of  the  hammers,  and  then  I  waked  to  a  knowledge  that 
somebody  was  pounding  on  my  door. 

I  was  up  at  once,  and  with  the  sound  of  my  foot- 
step on  the  floor  the  low  knocking  ceased,  to  be 
followed  immediately  by  sibilant  whispering  through 
the  keyhole. 

"Miss  Rachel!  Miss  Rachel!"  somebody  was  say- 
ing, over  and  over. 


140     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"Is  that  you,  Liddy  ?"  I  asked,  my  hand  on  the 
knob. 

"For  the  love  of  mercy,  let  me  in !"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone. 

She  was  leaning  against  the  door,  for  when  I  opened 
it,  she  fell  in.  She  was  greenish-white,  and  she  had 
a  red  and  black  barred  flannel  petticoat  over  her 
shoulders. 

"Listen,"  she  said,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor  and  holding  on  to  me.  "Oh,  Miss  Rachel, 
it's  the  ghost  of  that  dead  man  hammering  to  get 
in!" 

Sure  enough,  there  was  a  dull  thud — thud — thud 
from  some  place  near.  It  was  muffled :  one  rather  felt 
than  heard  it,  and  it  was  impossible  to  locate.  One 
moment  it  seemed  to  come,  three  taps  and  a  pause, 
from  the  floor  under  us :  the  next,  thud — thud — thud 
—it  came  apparently  from  the  wall. 

"It's  not  a  ghost,"  I  said  decidedly.  "If  it  was  a 
ghost  it  wouldn't  rap:  it  would  come  through  the 
keyhole."  Liddy  looked  at  the  keyhole.  "But  it 
sounds  very  much  as  though  some  one  is  trying  t<> 
break  into  the  house." 

Liddy  was  shivering  violently.  I  told  her  to  get  me 
my  slippers  and  she  brought  me  a  pair  of  kid  gloves, 
so  I  found  my  things  myself,  and  prepared  to  call 
Halsey.  As  before,  the  night  alarm  had  found  the 
electric  lights  gone:  the  hall,  save  for  its  night  lamp, 
was  in  darkness,  as  I  went  across  to  Halsey' s  room.  I 
hardly  know  what  I  feared,  but  it  was  a  relief  to  find 


LIDDY  GIVES  THE  ALARM     141 

him  there,  very  sound  asleep,  and  with  his  door  un- 
locked. 

"Wake  up,  Halsey,"  I  said,  shaking  him. 

He  stirred  a  little.  Liddy  was  half  in  and  half  out 
of  the  door,  afraid  as  usual  to  be  left  alone,  and  not 
quite  daring  to  enter.  Her  scruples  seemed  to  fade, 
however,  all  at  once.  She  gave  a  suppressed  yell, 
bolted  into  the  room,  and  stood  tightly  clutching 
the  foot-board  of  the  bed.  Halsey  was  gradually 
waking. 

"I've  seen  it,"  Liddy  wailed.  "A  woman  in  white 
down  the  hall!" 

I  paid  no  attention. 

"Halsey,"  I  persevered,  "some  one  is  breaking  into 
the  house.  Get  up,  won't  you?" 

"It  isn't  our  house,"  he  said  sleepily.  And  then  he 
roused  to  the  exigency  of  the  occasion.  "All  right, 
Aunt  Ray,"  he  said,  still  yawning.  "If  you'll  let  me 
get  into  something — " 

It  was  all  I  could  do  to  get  Liddy  out  of  the  room. 
The  demands  of  the  occasion  had  no  influence  on  her : 
she  had  seen  the  ghost,  she  persisted,  and  she  wasn't 
going  into  the  hall.  But  I  got  her  over  to  my  room  at 
last,  more  dead  than  alive,  and  made  her  lie  down  on 
the  bed. 

The  tappings,  which  seemed  to  have  ceased  for  a 
while,  had  commenced  again,  but  they  were  fainter. 
Halsey  came  over  in  a  few  minutes,  and  stood  listening 
and  trying  to  locate  the  sound. 

"Give  me  my  revolver,  Aunt  Ray,"  he  said;  and 


142     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

I  got  it — the  one  I  had  found  in  the  tulip  bed — and 
gave  it  to  him.  He  saw  Liddy  there  and  divined  at 
once  that  Louise  was  alone. 

"You  let  me  attend  to  this  fellow,  whoever  it  is, 
Aunt  Ray,  and  go  to  Louise,  will  you?  She  may  be 
awake  and  alarmed." 

So  in  spite  of  her  protests,  I  left  Liddy  alone  and 
went  back  to  the  east  wing.  Perhaps  I  went  a  little 
faster  past  the  yawning  blackness  of  the  circular  stair- 
case; and  I  could  hear  Halsey  creaking  cautiously 
down  the  main  staircase.  The  rapping,  or  pounding, 
had  ceased,  and  the  silence  was  almost  painful.  And 
then  suddenly,  from  apparently  under  my  very  feet, 
there  rose  a  woman's  scream,  a  cry  of  terror  that 
broke  off  as  suddenly  as  it  came.  I  stood  frozen  and 
still.  Every  drop  of  blood  in  my  body  seemed  to  leave 
the  surface  and  gather  around  my  heart.  In  the  dead 
silence  that  followed  it  throbbed  as  if  it  would  burst. 
More  dead  than  alive,  I  stumbled  into  Louise's  bed- 
room. She  was  not  there! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN    THE    EARLY    MORNING 

I  STOOD  looking  at  the  empty  bed.  The  coverings 
had  been  thrown  back,  and  Louise's  pink  silk  dress- 
ing-gown was  gone  from  the  foot,  where  it  had  lain. 
The  night  lamp  burned  dimly,  revealing  the  emptiness 
of  the  place.  I  picked  it  up,  but  my  hand  shook  so 
that  I  put  it  down  again,  and  got  somehow  to  the 
door. 

There  were  voices  in  the  hall  and  Gertrude  came 
running  toward  me. 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried.  "What  was  that  sound? 
Where  is  Louise?" 

"She  is  not  in  her  room,"  I  said  stupidly.  "I  think 
— it  was  she — who  screamed." 

Liddy  had  joined  us  now,  carrying  a  light.  We 
stood  huddled  together  at  the  head  of  the  circular 
staircase,  looking  down  into  its  shadows.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  seen,  and  it  was  absolutely  quiet  down 
there.  Then  we  heard  Halsey  running  up  the  main 
staircase.  He  came  quickly  down  the  hall  to  where 
•we  were  standing. 

"There's  no  one  trying  to  get  in.  I  thought  I 
heard  some  one  shriek.  Who  was  it?" 

Our  stricken  faces  told  him  the  truth. 

143 


144     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"Some  one  screamed  down  there,"  I  said.  "And — • 
and  Louise  is  not  in  her  room." 

With  a  jerk  Halsey  took  the  light  from  Liddy  and 
ran  down  the  circular  staircase.  I  followed  him,  more 
slowly.  My  nerves  seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of  paraly- 
sis: I  could  scarcely  step.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
Halsey  gave  an  exclamation  and  put  down  the  light. 

"Aunt  Ray,"  he  called  sharply. 

At  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  huddled  in  a  heap,  her 
head  on  the  lower  stair,  was  Louise  Armstrong.  She 
lay  limp  and  white,  her  dressing-gown  dragging  loose 
from  one  sleeve  of  her  night-dress,  and  the  heavy 
braid  of  her  dark  hair  stretching  its  length  a  couple 
of  steps  above  her  head,  as  if  she  had  slipped  down. 

She  was  not  dead :  Halsey  put  her  down  on  the  floor, 
and  began  to  rub  her  cold  hands,  while  Gertrude  and 
Liddy  ran  for  stimulants.  As  for  me,  I  sat  there  at 
the  foot  of  that  ghostly  staircase — sat,  because  my 
knees  wouldn't  hold  me — and  wondered  where  it  would 
all  end.  Louise  was  still  unconscious,  but  she  was 
breathing  better,  and  I  suggested  that  we  get  her  bad 
to  bed  before  she  came  to.  There  was  something 
grisly  and  horrible  to  me,  seeing  her  there  in  almost 
the  same  attitude  and  in  the  same  place  where  we  had 
found  her  brother's  body.  And  to  add  to  the  simi- 
larity, just  then  the  hall  clock,  far  off,  struck  faintly 
three  o'clock. 

It  was  four  before  Louise  was  able  to  talk,  and  the 
first  rays  of  dawn  were  coming  through  her  windows, 
which  faced  the  east,  before  she  could  tell  us  coherently 


IN  THE  EARLY  MORNING      145 

what  had  occurred.  I  give  it  as  she  told  it.  She  lay 
propped  in  bed,  and  Halsey  sat  beside  her,  unrebuffed, 
and  held  her  hand  while  she  talked. 

"I  was  not  sleeping  well,"  she  began,  "partly,  I  think, 
because  I  had  slept  during  the  afternoon.  Liddy 
brought  me  some  hot  milk  at  ten  o'clock  and  I  slept 
until  twelve.  Then  I  wakened  and — I  got  to  think- 
ing about  things,  and  worrying,  so  I  could  not  go  to 
sleep. 

"I  was  wondering  why  I  had  not  heard  from  Arnold 
since  the — since  I  saw  him  that  night  at  the  lodge.  I 
was  afraid  he  was  ill,  because — he  was  to  have  done 
something  for  me,  and  he  had  not  come  back.  It  must 
have  been  three  when  I  heard  some  one  rapping.  I 
sat  up  and  listened,  to  be  quite  sure,  and  the  rapping 
kept  up.  It  was  cautious,  and  I  was  about  to  call 
Liddy.  Then  suddenly  I  thought  I  knew  what  it  was. 
The  east  entrance  and  the  circular  staircase  were  al- 
ways used  by  Arnold  when  he  was  out  late,  and  some- 
times, when  he  forgot  his  key,  he  would  rap  and  I 
would  go  down  and  let  him  in.  I  thought  he  had  come 
back  to  see  me — I  didn't  think  about  the  time,  for  his 
hours  were  always  erratic.  But  I  was  afraid  I  was 
too  weak  to  get  down  the  stairs.  The  knocking  kept 
up,  and  just  as  I  was  about  to  call  Liddy,  she  ran 
through  the  room  and  out  into  the  hall.  I  got  up  then, 
feeling  weak  and  dizzy,  and  put  on  my  dressing-gown. 
If  it  was  Arnold,  I  knew  I  must  see  him. 

"It  was  very  dark  everywhere,  but,  of  course,  I 
knew  my  way.    I  felt  along  for  the  stair-rail,  and  went 


146     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

down  as  quickly  as  I  could.  The  knocking  had 
stopped,  and  I  was  afraid  I  was  too  late.  I  got  to  the 
foot  of  the  staircase  and  over  to  the  door  on  to  the  east 
veranda.  I  had  never  thought  of  anything  but  that  it 
was  Arnold,  until  I  reached  the  door.  It  was  unlocked 
and  opened  about  an  inch.  Everything  was  black :  it 
was  perfectly  dark  outside.  I  felt  very  queer  and 
shaky.  Then  I  thought  perhaps  Arnold  had  used  his 
key;  he  did — strange  things  sometimes,  and  I  turned 
around.  Just  as  I  reached  the  foot  of  the  staircase  I 
thought  I  heard  some  one  coming.  My  nerves  were  go- 
ing anyhow,  there  in  the  dark,  and  I  could  scarcely 
stand.  I  got  up  as  far  as  the  third  or  fourth  step; 
then  I  felt  that  some  one  was  coming  toward  me  on  the 
staircase.  The  next  instant  a  hand  met  mine  on  the 
stair-rail.  Some  one  brushed  past  me,  and  I  screamed. 
Then  I  must  have  fainted." 

That  was  Louise's  story.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
of  its  truth,  and  the  thing  that  made  it  inexpressibly 
awful  to  me  was  that  the  poor  girl  had  crept  down  to 
answer  the  summons  of  a  brother  who  would  never 
need  her  kindly  offices  again.  Twice  now,  without  ap- 
parent cause,  some  one  had  entered  the  house  by  means 
of  the  east  entrance :  had  apparently  gone  his  way  un- 
hindered through  the  house,  and  gone  out  again  as  he 
had  entered.  Had  this  unknown  visitor  been  there  a 
third  time,  the  night  A'rnold  Armstrong  was  mur- 
dered ?  Or  a  fourth,  the  time  Mr.  Jamieson  had  locked 
some  one  in  the  clothes  chute? 

Sleep  was  impossible,  I  think,  for  any  of  us.     We 


IN  THE  EARLY  MORNING      147 

dispersed  finally  to  bathe  and  dress,  leaving  Louise 
little  the  worse  for  her  experience.  But  I  determined 
that  before  the  day  was  over  she  must  know  the  true 
state  of  affairs.  Another  decision  I  made,  and  I  put 
it  into  execution  immediately  after  breakfast.  I  had 
one  of  the  unused  bedrooms  in  the  east  wing,  back 
along  the  small  corridor,  prepared  for  occupancy,  and 
from  that  time  on,  Alex,  the  gardener,  slept  there. 
One  man  in  that  barn  of  a  house  was  an  absurdity, 
with  things  happening  all  the  time,  and  I  must  say 
that  Alex  was  as  unobjectionable  as  any  one  could 
possibly  have  been. 

The  next  morning,  also,  Halsey  and  I  made  an  ex- 
haustive examination  of  the  circular  staircase,  the 
small  entry  at  its  foot,  and  the  card-room  opening 
from  it.  There  was  no  evidence  of  anything  unusual 
the  night  before,  and  had  we  not  ourselves  heard  the 
rapping  noises,  I  should  have  felt  that  Louise's  imagi- 
nation had  run  away  with  her.  The  outer  door  was 
closed  and  locked,  and  the  staircase  curved  above  us, 
for  all  the  world  like  any  other  staircase. 

Halsey,  who  had  never  taken  seriously  my  account 
of  the  night  Liddy  and  I  were  there  alone,  was  grave 
enough  now.  He  examined  the  paneling  of  the  wain- 
scoting above  and  below  the  stairs,  evidently  looking 
for  a  secret  door,  and  suddenly  there  flashed  into  my 
mind  the  recollection  of  a  scrap  of  paper  that  Mr. 
Jamieson  had  found  among  Arnold  Armstrong's  ef- 
fects. As  nearly  as  possible  I  repeated  its  contents  to 
him,  while  Halsey  took  them  down  in  a  note-book. 


148     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"I  wish  you  had  told  me  that  before,"  he  said,  as 
he  put  the  memorandum  carefully  away.     We  found 
nothing  at  all  in  the  house,  and  I  expected  little  from 
any  examination  of  the  porch  and  grounds.     But  as 
we  opened  the  outer  door  something  fell  into  the  entry 
with  a  clatter.    It  was  a  cue  from  the  billiard-room. 
Halsey  picked  it  up  with  an  exclamation. 
"That's  careless  enough,"  he  said.     "Some  of  the 
servants  have  been  amusing  themselves." 

I  was  far  from  convinced.  Not  one  of  the  servants 
would  go  into  that  wing  at  night  unless  driven  by  dire 
necessity.  And  a  billiard  cue !  As  a  weapon  of  either 
offense  or  defense  it  was  an  absurdity,  unless  one  ac- 
cepted Liddy's  hypothesis  of  a  ghost,  and  even  then, 
as  Halsey  pointed  out,  a  billiard-playing  ghost  would 
be  a  very  modern  evolution  of  an  ancient  institution. 

That  afternoon  we,  Gertrude,  Halsey  and  I,  attended 
the  coroner's  inquest  in  town.  Doctor  Stewart  had 
been  summoned  also,  it  transpiring  that  in  that  early 
Sunday  morning,  when  Gertrude  and  I  had  gone  to 
our  rooms,  he  had  been  called  to  view  the  body.  We 
went,  the  four  of  us,  in  the  machine,  preferring  the 
execrable  roads  to  the  matinee  train,  with  half  of  Cas- 
anova staring  at  us.  And  on  the  way  we  decided  to 
say  nothing  of  Louise  and  her  interview  with  her  step- 
brother the  night  he  died.  The  girl  was  in  trouble 
enougk  as  it  was. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A    HINT    OF    SCANDAL 

IN  giving  the  gist  of  what  happened  at  the  inquest, 
I  have  only  one  excuse — to  recall  to  the  reader 
the  events  of  the  night  of  Arnold  Armstrong's  mur- 
der. Many  things  had  occurred  which  were  not 
brought  out  at  the  inquest  and  some  things  were  told 
there  that  were  new  to  me.  Altogether,  it  was  a 
gloomy  affair,  and  the  six  men  in  the  corner,  who 
constituted  the  coroner's  jury,  were  evidently  the  mer- 
est puppets  in  the  hands  of  that  all-powerful  gentleman, 
the  coroner. 

Gertrude  and  I  sat  well  back,  with  our  veils  down. 
There  were  a  number  of  people  I  knew :  Barbara  Fitz- 
hugh,  in  extravagant  mourning — she  always  went  into 
black  on  the  slightest  provocation,  because  it  was  be- 
coming— and  Mr.  Jarvis,  the  man  who  had  come  over 
from  the  Greenwood  Club  the  night  of  the  murder. 
Mr.  Harton  was  there,  too,  looking  impatient  as  the 
inquest  dragged,  but  alive  to  every  particle  of  evi- 
dence. From  a  corner  Mr.  Jamieson  was  watching  the 
proceedings  intently. 

Doctor  Stewart  was  called  first.  His  evidence  was 
told  briefly,  and  amounted  to  this:  on  the  Sunday 
morning  previous,  at  a  quarter  before  five,  he  had  been 
called  to  the  telephone.  The  message  was  from  a  Mr. 

149 


150     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

Jarvis,  who  asked  him  to  come  at  once  to  Sunnyside, 
as  there  had  been  an  accident  there,  and  Mr.  Arnold 
Armstrong  had  been  shot.  He  had  dressed  hastily, 
gathered  up  some  instruments,  and  driven  to  Sunny- 
side. 

He  was  met  by  Mr.  Jarvis,  who  took  him  at  once  to 
the  east  wing.  There,  just  as  he  had  fallen,  was  the 
body  of  Arnold  Armstrong.  There  was  no  need  of 
the  instruments:  the  man  was  dead.  In  answer  to 
the  coroner's  question — no,  the  body  had  not  been 
moved,  save  to  turn  it  over.  It  lay  at  the  foot  of  the 
circular  staircase.  Yes,  he  believed  death  had  been 
instantaneous.  The  body  was  still  somewhat  warm 
and  rigor  mortis  had  not  set  in.  It  occurred  late  in 
cases  of  sudden  death.  No,  he  believed  the  probability 
of  suicide  might  be  eliminated ;  the  wounds  could  have 
been  self-inflicted,  but  with  difficulty,  and  there  had 
been  no  weapon  found. 

The  doctor's  examination  was  over,  but  he  hesitated 
and  cleared  his  throat. 

"Mr.  Coroner,"  he  said,  "at  the  risk  of  taking  up 
valuable  time,  I  would  like  to  speak  of  an  incident  that 
may  or  may  not  throw  some  light  on  this  matter." 

The  audience  was  alert  at  once. 

"Kindly  proceed,  Doctor,"  the  coroner  said. 

"My  home  is  in  Englewood,  two  miles  from  Casa- 
nova," the  doctor  began.  "In  the  absence  of  Doctor 
Walker,  a  number  of  Casanova  people  have  been  con- 
sulting me.  A  month  ago — five  weeks,  to  be  exact — a 
woman  whom  I  had  never  seen  came  to  my  office.  She 


A  HINT  OF  SCANDAL  151 

was  in  deep  mourning  and  kept  her  veil  down,  and  she 
brought  for  examination  a  child,  a  boy  of  six.  The 
little  fellow  was  ill;  it  looked  like  typhoid,  and  the 
mother  was  frantic.  She  wanted  a  permit  to  admit  the 
youngster  to  the  Children's  Hospital  in  town  here, 
where  I  am  a  member  of  the  staff,  and  I  gave  her  one. 
The  incident  would  have  escaped  me,  but  for  a  curious 
thing.  Two  days  before  Mr.  Armstrong  was  shot,  I 
was  sent  for  to  go  to  the  Country  Club :  some  one  had 
been  struck  with  a  golf-ball  that  had  gone  wild.  It 
was  late  when  I  left — I  was  on  foot,  and  about  a  mile 
from  the  club,  on  the  Claysburg  road,  I  met  two  peo- 
ple. They  were  disputing  violently,  and  I  had  no  dif- 
ficulty in  recognizing  Mr.  Armstrong.  The  woman, 
beyond  doubt,  was  the  one  who  had  consulted  me  about 
the  child." 

At  this  hint  of  scandal,  Mrs.  Ogden  Fitzhugh  sat 
up  very  straight.  Jamieson  was  looking  slightly 
skeptical,  and  the  coroner  made  a  note. 

"The  Children's  Hospital,  you  say,  Doctor?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes.  But  the  child,  who  was  entered  as  Lucien 
Wallace,  was  taken  away  by  his  mother  two  weeks 
ago.  I  have  tried  to  trace  them  and  failed." 

All  at  once  I  remembered  the  telegram  sent  to  Louise 
by  some  one  signed  F.  L.  W. — presumably  Doctor 
Walker.  Could  this  veiled  woman  be  the  Nina  Car- 
rington  of  the  message?  But  it  was  only  idle  specu- 
lation. I  had  no  way  of  finding  out,  and  the  inquest 
was  proceeding. 


152     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

The  report  of  the  coroner's  physician  came  next. 
The  post-mortem  examination  showed  that  the  bullet 
had  entered  the  chest  in  the  fourth  left  intercostal 
space  and  had  taken  an  oblique  course  downward  and 
backward,  piercing  both  the  heart  and  lungs.  The 
left  lung  was  collapsed,  and  the  exit  point  of  the  ball 
had  been  found  in  the  muscles  of  the  back  to  the  left 
of  the  spinal  column.  It  was  improbable  that  such  a 
wound  had  been  self-inflicted,  and  its  oblique  down- 
ward course  pointed  to  the  fact  that  the  shot  had  been 
fired  from  above.  In  other  words,  as  the  murdered 
man  had  been  found  dead  at  the  foot  of  a  staircase,  it 
was  probable  that  the  shot  had  been  fired  by  some  one 
higher  up  on  the  stairs.  There  were  no  marks  of 
pow4er.  The  bullet,  a  thirty-eight  caliber,  had  been 
found  in  tke  dead  man's  clothing,  and  was  shown  to 
the  jury. 

Mr.  Jaryis  was  called  next,  but  his  testimony 
amounted  to  little.  He  had  been  summoned  by  tele- 
phone to  Sunnyside,  had  come  over  at  once  with  the 
steward  and  Mr.  Winthrop,  at  present  out  of  town. 
They  had  been  admitted  by  the  housekeeper,  and  had 
found  the  body  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase.  He 
had  made  a  search  for  a  weapon,  but  there  was  none 
around.  The  outer  entry  door  in  the  east  wing  had 
been  unfastened  and  was  open  about  an  inch. 

I  had  been  growing  more  and  more  nervous.  When 
the  coroner  called  Mr.  John  Bailey,  the  room  was 
filled  with  suppressed  excitement.  Mr.  Jamieson  went 


A  HINT  OF  SCANDAL  153 

forward  and  spoke  a  few  words  to  the  coroner,  who 
nodded.     Then  Halsey  was  called. 

"Mr.  Innes,"  the  coroner  said,  "will  you  tell  under 
what  circumstances  you  saw  Mr.  Arnold  Armstrong 
the  night  he  died?" 

"I  saw  him  first  at  the  Country  Club,"  Halsey  said 
quietly.  He  was  rather  pale,  but  very  composed.  "I 
stopped  there  with  my  automobile  for  gasolene.  Mr. 
Armstrong  had  been  playing  cards.  When  I  saw  him 
there,  he  was  coming  out  of  the  card-room,  talking  to 
Mr.  John  Bailey." 

"The  nature  of  the  discussion — was  it  amicable?" 

Halsey  hesitated. 

"They  were  having  a  dispute,"  he  said.  "I  asked 
Mr.  Bailey  to  leave  the  club  with  me  and  come  to 
Sunnyside  over  Sunday." 

"Isn't  it  a  fact,  Mr.  Innes,  that  you  took  Mr.  Bailey 
away  from  the  club-house  because  you  were  afraid 
there  would  be  blows?" 

"The  situation  was  unpleasant,"  Halsey  said  eva- 
sively. 

"At  that  time  had  you  any  suspicion  that  the 
Traders'  Bank  had  been  wrecked  ?" 

"No." 

"What  occurred  next?" 

"Mr.  Bailey  and  I  talked  in  the  billiard-room  until 
two-thirty." 

"And  Mr.  Arnold  Armstrong  came  there,  while  you 
were  talking?" 


154    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"Yes.  He  came  about  half-past  two.  He  rapped 
at  the  east  door,  and  I  admitted  him." 

The  silence  in  the  room  was  intense.  Mr.  Jamieson's 
eyes  never  left  Halsey's  face. 

"Will  you  tell  us  the  nature  of  his  errand  ?" 

"He  brought  a  telegram  that  had  come  to  the  club 
for  Mr.  Bailey." 

"He  was  sober?" 

"Perfectly,  at  that  time.     Not  earlier." 

"Was  not  his  apparent  friendliness  a  change  from 
his  former  attitude?" 

"Yes.    I  did  not  understand  it." 

"How  long  did  he  stay?" 

"About  five  minutes.  Then  he  left,  by  the  east 
entrance." 

"What  occurred  then?" 

"We  talked  for  a  few  minutes,  discussing  a  plan 
Mr.  Bailey  had  in  mind.  Then  I  went  to  the  stables, 
where  I  kept  my  car,  and  got  it  out." 

"Leaving  Mr.  Bailey  alone  in  the  billiard-room?" 

Halsey  hesitated. 

"My  sister  was  there." 

Mrs.  Ogden  Fitzhugh  had  the  courage  to  turn  and 
eye  Gertrude  through  her  lorgnon. 

"And  then?" 

"I  took  the  car  along  the  lower  road,  not  to  disturb 
the  household.  Mr.  Bailey  came  down  across  the  lawn, 
through  the  hedge,  and  got  into  the  car  on  the  road." 

"Then  you  know  nothing  of  Mr.  Armstrong's 
movements  after  he  left  the  house?" 


A  HINT  OF  SCANDAL  155 

"Nothing.  I  read  of  his  death  Monday  evening  for 
the  first  time." 

"Mr.  Bailey  did  not  see  him  on  his  way  across  the 
lawn?" 

"I  think  not.  If  he  had  seen  him  he  would  have 
spoken  of  it." 

"Thank  you.  That  is  all.  Miss  Gertrude 
Innes." 

Gertrude's  replies  were  fully  as  concise  as  Halsey's. 
Mrs.  Fitzhugh  subjected  her  to  a  close  inspection, 
commencing  with  her  hat  and  ending  with  her  shoes. 
I  flatter  myself  she  found  nothing  wrong  with  either 
her  gown  or  her  manner,  but  poor  Gertrude's  testi- 
mony was  the  reverse  of  comforting.  She  had  been 
summoned,  she  said,  by  her  brother,  after  Mr.  Arm- 
strong had  gone.  She  had  waited  in  the  billiard-room 
with  Mr.  Bailey,  until  the  automobile  had  been  ready. 
Then  she  had  locked  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
case, and,  taking  a  lamp,  had  accompanied  Mr.  Bailey 
to  the  main  entrance  of  the  house,  and  had  watched 
him  cross  the  lawn.  Instead  of  going  at  once  to  her 
room,  she  had  gone  back  to  the  billiard-room  for  some- 
thing which  had  been  left  there.  The  card-room  and 
billiard-room  were  in  darkness.  She  had  groped 
around,  found  the  article  she  was  looking  for,  and  was 
on  the  point  of  returning  to  her  room,  when  she  had 
heard  some  one  fumbling  at  the  lock  at  the  east  outer 
door.  She  had  thought  it  was  probably  her  brother, 
and  had  been  about  to  go  to  the  door,  when  she  heard 
it  open.  Almost  immediately  there  was  a  shot,  and  she 


156    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

had  run  panic-stricken  through  the  drawing-room  and 
had  roused  the  house. 

"You  heard  no  other  sound?"  the  coroner  asked. 
"There  was  no  one  with  Mr.  Armstrong  when  he  en- 
tered ?" 

"It  was  perfectly  dark.  There  were  no  voices  and 
I  heard  nothing.  There  was  just  the  opening  of  the 
door,  the  shot,  and  the  sound  of  somebody  falling." 

"Then,  while  you  went  through  the  drawing-room 
and  up-stairs  to  alarm  the  household,  the  criminal, 
whoever  it  was,  could  have  escaped  by  the  east  door  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Thank  you.    That  will  do." 

I  flatter  myself  that  the  coroner  got  little  enough 
out  of  me.  I  saw  Mr.  Jamieson  smiling  to  himself, 
and  the  coroner  gave  me  up,  after  a  time.  I  admitted 
I  had  found  the  body,  said  I  had  not  known  who  it 
was  until  Mr.  Jarvis  told  me,  and  ended  by  looking  up 
at  Barbara  Fitzhugh  and  saying  that  in  renting  the 
house  I  had  not  expected  to  be  involved  in  any  family 
scandal.  At  which  she  turned  purple. 

The  verdict  was  that  Arnold  Armstrong  had  met 
his  death  at  the  hands  of  a  person  or  persons  un- 
known, and  we  all  prepared  to  leave.  Barbara  Fitz- 
hugh flounced  out  without  waiting  to  speak  to  me,  but 
Mr.  Harton  came  up,  as  I  knew  he  would. 

"You  have  decided  to  give  up  the  house,  I  hope, 
Miss  Innes,"  he  said.  "Mrs.  Armstrong  has  wired  me 
again." 

"I  am  not  going  to  give  it  up,"  I  maintained,  "un- 


A  HINT  OF  SCANDAL  157 

til  I  understand  some  things  that  are  puzzling  me. 
The  day  that  the  murderer  is  discovered,  I  will  leave." 

"Then,  judging  by  what  I  have  heard,  you  will  be 
back  in  the  city  very  soon,"  he  said.  And  I  knew  that 
he  suspected  the  discredited  cashier  of  the  Traders' 
Bank. 

Mr.  Jamieson  came  up  to  me  as  I  was  about  to  leave 
the  coroner's  office. 

"How  is  your  patient?"  he  asked  with  his  odd  little 
smile. 

"I  have  no  patient,"  I  replied,  startled. 

"I  will  put  it  in  a  different  way,  then.  How  is  Miss 
Armstrong  ?" 

"She — she  is  doing  very  well,"  I  stammered. 

"Good,"  cheerfully.    "And  our  ghost?    Is  it  laid?" 

"Mr.  Jamieson,"  I  said  suddenly,  "I  wish  you  would 
do  one  thing :  I  wish  you  would  come  to  Sunnyside  and 
spend  a  few  days  there.  The  ghost  is  not  laid.  I  want 
you  to  spend  one  night  at  least  watching  the  circular 
staircase.  The  murder  of  Arnold  Armstrong  was  a 
beginning,  not  an  end." 

He  looked  serious. 

"Perhaps  I  can  do  it,"  he  said.  "I  have  been  doing 
something  else,  but — well,  I  will  come  out  to-night." 

We  were  very  silent  during  the  trip  back  to  Sunny- 
side.  I  watched  Gertrude  closely  and  somewhat  sadly. 
To  me  there  was  one  glaring  flaw  in  her  story,  and  it 
seemed  to  stand  out  for  every  one  to  see.  Arnold  Arm- 
strong had  had  no  key,  and  yet  she  said  she  had  locked 
the  east  door.  He  must  have  been  admitted  from 


158     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

within  the  house;  over  and  over  I  repeated  it  to  my- 
self. 

That  night,  as  gently  as  I  could,  I  told  Louise  the 
story  of  her  stepbrother's  death.  She  sat  in  her  big, 
pillow-filled  chair,  and  heard  me  through  without  in- 
terruption. It  was  clear  that  she  was  shocked  beyond 
words:  if  I  had  hoped  to  learn  anything  from  her 
expression,  I  had  failed.  She  was  as  much  in  the  dark 
as  we  were. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A    HOLE   IN   THE   WALL 

MY  taking  the  detective  out  to  Sunnyside  raised  an 
unexpected  storm  of  protest  from  Gertrude  and 
Halsey.  I  was  not  prepared  for  it,  and  I  scarcely 
knew  how  to  account  for  it.  To  me  Mr.  Jamieson 
was  far  less  formidable  under  my  eyes  where  I  knew 
what  he  was  doing,  than  he  was  off  in  the  city,  twist- 
ing circumstances  and  motives  to  suit  himself  and 
learning  what  he  wished  to  know,  about  events  at  Sun- 
nyside, in  some  occult  way.  I  was  glad  enough  to  have 
him  there,  when  excitements  began  to  come  thick  and 
fast. 

A  new  element  was  about  to  enter  into  affairs :  Mon- 
day, or  Tuesday  at  the  latest,  would  find,  Doctor 
Walker  back  in  his  green  and  white  house  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  Louise's  attitude  to  him  in  the  immediate 
future  would  signify  Halsey's  happiness  or  wretched- 
ness, as  it  might  turn  out.  Then,  too,  the  return  of 
her  mother  would  mean,  of  course,  that  she  would 
have  to  leave  us,  and  I  had  become  greatly  attached 
to  her. 

From  the  day  Mr.  Jamieson  came  to  Sunnyside, 
there  was  a  subtle  change  in  Gertrude's  manner  to  me. 
It  was  elusive,  difficult  to  analyze,  but  it  was  there. 
She  was  no  longer  frank  with  me,  although  I  think 

159 


160    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

her  affection  never  wavered.  At  the  time  I  laid  the 
change  to  the  fact  that  I  had  forbidden  all  communi- 
cation with  John  Bailey,  and  had  refused  to  acknowl- 
edge any  engagement  between  the  two.  Gertrude  spent 
much  of  her  time  wandering  through  the  grounds, 
or  taking  long  cross-country  walks.  Halsey  played 
golf  at  the  Country  Club  day  after  day,  and  after 
Louise  left,  as  she  did  the  following  week,  Mr.  Jamie- 
son  and  I  were  much  together.  He  played  a  fair  game 
of  cribbage,  but  he  cheated  at  solitaire. 

The  night  the  detective  arrived,  Saturday,  I  had  a 
talk  with  him.  I  told  him  of  the  experience  Louise 
Armstrong  had  had  the  night  before,  on  the  circular 
staircase,  and  about  the  man  who  had  so  frightened 
Rosie  on  the  drive.  I  saw  that  he  thought  the  infor- 
mation was  important,  and  to  my  suggestion  that  we 
put  an  additional  lock  on  the  east  wing  door  he  op- 
posed a  strong  negative. 

"I  think  it  probable,"  he  said,  "that  our  visitor  will 
be  back  again,  and  the  thing  to  do  is  to  leave  things 
exactly  as  they  are,  to  avoid  rousing  suspicion.  Then 
I  can  watch  for  at  least  a  part  of  each  night  and 
probably  Mr.  Innes  will  help  us  out.  I  would  say  as 
little  to  Thomas  as  possible.  The  old  man  knows  more 
than  he  is  willing  to  admit." 

I  suggested  that  Alex,  the  gardener,  would  prob- 
ably be  willing  to  help,  and  Mr.  Jamieson  undertook 
to  make  the  arrangement  For  one  night,  however, 
Mr.  Jamieson  preferred  to  watch  alone.  Apparently 
nothing  occurred.  The  detective  sat  in  absolute  dark- 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL         161 

ness  on  the  lower  step  of  the  stairs,  dozing,  he  said 
afterwards,  now  and  then.  Nothing  could  pass  him 
in  either  direction,  and  the  door  in  the  morning  re- 
mained as  securely  fastened  as  it  had  been  the  night 
before.  And  yet  one  of  the  most  inexplicable  occur- 
rences of  the  whole  affair  took  place  that  very  night. 

Liddy  came  to  my  room  on  Sunday  morning  with 
a  face  as  long  as  the  moral  law.  She  laid  out  my 
things  as  usual,  but  I  missed  her  customary  garrulous- 
ness.  I  was  not  regaled  with  the  new  cook's  extrava- 
gance as  to  eggs,  and  she  even  forbore  to  mention 
"that  Jamieson,"  on  whose  arrival  she  had  looked  with 
silent  disfavor. 

"What's  the  matter,  Liddy?"  I  asked  at  last. 
"Didn't  you  sleep  last  night?" 

"No,  ma'm,"  she  said  stiffly. 

"Did  you  have  two  cups  of  coffee  at  your  dinner?" 
I  inquired. 

"No,  ma'm,"  indignantly. 

I  sat  up  and  almost  upset  my  hot  water — I  always 
take  a  cup  of  hot  water  with  a  pinch  of  salt,  before  I 
get  up.  It  tones  the  stomach. 

"Liddy  Allen,"  I  said,  "stop  combing  that  switch 
and  tell  me  what  is  wrong  with  you." 

Liddy  heaved  a  sigh. 

"Girl  and  woman,"  she  said,  "I've  been  with  you 
twenty-five  years,  Miss  Rachel,  through  good  temper 
and  bad — "  the  idea !  and  what  I  have  taken  from  her 
in  the  way  of  sulks ! — "but  I  guess  I  can't  stand  it  any 
longer.  My  trunk's  packed." 


162     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"Who  packed  it?"  I  asked,  expecting  from  her  tone 
to  be  told  she  had  wakened  to  find  it  done  by  some 
ghostly  hand. 

"I  did;  Miss  Rachel,  you  won't  believe  me  when  I 
tell  you  this  house  is  haunted.  Who  was  it  fell  down 
the  clothes  chute?  Who  was  it  scared  Miss  Louise 
almost  into  her  grave?" 

"I'm  doing  my  best  to  find  out,"  I  said.  "What  in 
the  world  are  you  driving  at?"  She  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"There  is  a  hole  in  the  trunk-room  wall,  dug  out 
since  last  night.  It's  big  enough  to  put  your  head  in, 
and  the  plaster's  all  over  the  place." 

"Nonsense !"  I  said.    "Plaster  is  always  falling." 

But  Liddy  clenched  that. 

"Just  ask  Alex,"  she  said.  "When  he  put  the  new 
cook's  trunk  there  last  night  the  wall  was  as  smooth 
as  this.  This  morning  it's  dug  out,  and  there's  plaster 
on  the  cook's  trunk.  Miss  Rachel,  you  can  get  a  dozen 
detectives  and  put  one  on  every  stair  in  the  house,  and 
you'll  never  catch  anything.  There's  some  things  you 
can't  handcuff." 

Liddy  was  right.  As  soon  as  I  could,  I  went  up  to 
the  trunk-room,  which  was  directly  over  my  bedroom. 
The  plan  of  the  upper  story  of  the  house  was  like  that 
of  the  second  floor,  in  the  main.  One  end,  however, 
over  the  east  wing,  had  been  left  only  roughly  finished, 
the  intention  having  been  to  convert  it  into  a  ball-room 
at  some  future  time.  The  maids'  rooms,  trunk-room, 
and  various  store-rooms,  including  a  large  airy  linen- 


A  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL         163 

room,  opened  from  a  long  corridor,  like  that  on  the 
second  floor.  And  in  the  trunk-room,  as  Liddy  had 
said,  was  a  fresh  break  in  the  plaster. 

Not  only  in  the  plaster,  but  through  the  lathing, 
the  aperture  extended.  I  reached  into  the  opening,  and 
three  feet  away,  perhaps,  I  could  touch  the  bricks  of 
the  partition  wall.  For  some  reason,  the  architect,  in 
building  the  house,  had  left  a  space  there  that  struck 
me,  even  in  the  surprise  of  the  discovery,  as  an  excel- 
lent place  for  a  conflagration  to  gain  headway. 

"You  are  sure  the  hole  was  not  here  yesterday?"  I 
asked  Liddy,  whose  expression  was  a  mixture  of  satis- 
faction and  alarm.  In  answer  she  pointed  to  the  new 
cook's  trunk — that  necessary  adjunct  of  the  migra- 
tory domestic.  The  top  was  covered  with  fine  white 
plaster,  as  was  the  floor.  But  there  were  no  large 
pieces  of  mortar  lying  around — no  bits  of  lathing. 
When  I  mentioned  this  to  Liddy  she  merely  raised  her 
eyebrows.  Being  quite  confident  that  the  gap  was  of 
unholy  origin,  she  did  not  concern  herself  with  such 
trifles  as  a  bit  of  mortar  and  lath.  No  doubt  they 
were  even  then  heaped  neatly  on  a  gravestone  in  the 
Casanova  churchyard ! 

I  brought  Mr.  Jamieson  up  to  see  the  hole  in  the 
wall,  directly  after  breakfast.  His  expression  was 
very  odd  when  he  looked  at  it,  and  the  first  thing  he 
did  was  to  try  to  discover  what  object,  if  any,  such 
a  hole  could  have.  He  got  a  piece  of  candle,  and 
by  enlarging  the  aperture  a  little  was  able  to  examine 
what  lay  beyond.  The  result  was  nil.  The  trunk- 


164     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

room,  although  heated  by  steam  heat,  like  the  rest  of 
the  house,  boasted  of  a  fireplace  and  mantel  as  well. 
The  opening  had  been  made  between  the  flue  and  the 
outer  wall  of  the  house.  There  was  revealed,  however, 
on  inspection,  only  the  brick  of  the  chimney  on  one 
side  and  the  outer  wall  of  the  house  on  the  other;  in 
depth  the  space  extended  only  to  the  flooring.  The 
breach  had  been  made  about  four  feet  from  the  floor, 
and  inside  were  all  the  missing  bits  of  plaster.  It  had 
been  a  methodical  ghost. 

It  was  very  much  of  a  disappointment.  I  had  ex- 
pected a  secret  room,  at  the  very  least,  and  I  think 
even  Mr.  Jamieson  had  fancied  he  might  at  last  have 
a  clue  to  the  mystery.  There  was  evidently  nothing 
more  to  be  discovered:  Liddy  reported  that  every- 
thing was  serene  among  the  servants,  and  that  none 
of  them  had  been  disturbed  by  the  noise.  The  mad- 
dening thing,  however,  was  that  the  nightly  visitor 
had  evidently  more  than  one  way  of  gaining  access  to 
the  house,  and  we  made  arrangements  to  redouble  our 
vigilance  as  to  windows  and  doors  that  night. 

Halsey  was  inclined  to  pooh-pooh  the  whole  affair. 
He  said  a  break  in  the  plaster  might  have  occurred 
months  ago  and  gone  unnoticed,  and  that  the  dust 
had  probably  been  stirred  up  the  day  before.  After 
all,  we  had  to  let  it  go  at  that,  but  we  put  in  an  un- 
comfortable Sunday.  Gertrude  went  to  church,  and 
Halsey  took  a  long  walk  in  the  morning.  Louise 
was  able  to  sit  up,  and  she  allowed  Halsey  and  Liddy 


A  HOLE  IIST  THE  WALL         165 

to  assist  her  down-stairs  late  in  the  afternoon.  The 
east  veranda  was  shady,  green  with  vines  and  palms, 
cheerful  with  cushions  and  lounging  chairs.  We  put 
Louise  in  a  steamer  chair,  and  she  sat  there  passively 
enough,  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap. 

We  were  very  silent.  Halsey  sat  on  the  rail  with  a 
pipe,  openly  watching  Louise,  as  she  looked  brood- 
ingly  across  the  valley  to  the  hills.  There  was  some- 
thing baffling  in  the  girl's  eyes ;  and  gradually 
Halsey's  boyish  features  lost  their  glow  at  seeing  her 
about  again,  .and  settled  into  grim  lines.  He  was  like 
his  father  just  then. 

We  sat  until  late  afternoon,  Halsey  growing  more 
and  more  moody.  Shortly  before  six,  he  got  up  and 
went  into  the  house,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  came 
out  and  called  me  to  the  telephone.  It  was  Anna 
Whitcomb,  in  town,  and  she  kept  me  for  twenty  min- 
utes, telling  me  the  children  had  had  the  measles,  and 
how  Madame  Sweeny  had  botched  her  new  gown. 

When  I  finished,  Liddy  was  behind  me,  her  mouth 
a  thin  line. 

"I  wish  you  would  try  to  look  cheerful,  Liddy,"  I 
groaned,  "your  face  would  sour  milk."  But  Liddy 
seldom  replied  to  my  gibes.  She  folded  her  lips  a 
little  tighter. 

"He  called  her  up,"  she  said  oracularly,  "he  called 
her  up,  and  asked  her  to  keep  you  at  the  telephone, 
so  he  could  talk  to  Miss  Louise.  A  thankless  child  is 
sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth." 


166     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"Nonsense !"  I  said  bruskly.  "I  might  have  known 
enough  to  leave  them.  It's  a  long  time  since  yc*<  and 
I  were  in  love,  Liddy,  and — we  forget." 

Liddy  sniffed. 

"No  man  ever  made  a  fool  of  me,"  she  replied  vir- 
tuously. 

"Well,  something  did,"  I  retorted. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

CONCERNING   THOMAS 

"  JAMIESON  " I  said> when  we  found 

selves  alone  after  dinner  that  night,  "the  in- 
quest yesterday  seemed  to  me  the  merest  recapitula- 
tion of  things  that  were  already  known.  It  developed 
nothing  new  beyond  the  story  of  Doctor  Stewart's, 
and  that  was  volunteered." 

"An  inquest  is  only  a  necessary  formality,  Miss 
Innes,"  he  replied.  "Unless  a  crime  is  committed  in 
the  open,  the  inquest  does  nothing  beyond  getting 
evidence  from  witnesses  while  events  are  still  in  their 
minds.  The  police  step  in  later.  You  and  I  both  know 
how  many  important  things  never  transpired.  For 
instance:  the  dead  man  had  no  key,  and  yet  Miss 
Gertrude  testified  to  a  fumbling  at  the  lock,  and  then 
the  opening  of  the  door.  The  piece  of  evidence  you 
mention,  Doctor  Stewart's  story,  is  one  of  those  things 
we  have  to  take  cautiously:  the  doctor  has  a  patient 
who  wears  black  and  does  not  raise  her  veil.  Why, 
it  is  the  typical  mysterious  lady !  Then  the  good  doc- 
tor comes  across  Arnold  Armstrong,  who  was  a  grace- 
less scamp — de  mortuis — what's  the  rest  of  it? — and 
he  is  quarreling  with  a  lady  in  black.  Behold,  says 
the  doctor,  they  are  one  and  the  same." 
167 


168    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"Why  was  Mr.  Bailey  not  present  at  the  inquest  ?" 

The  detective's  expression  was  peculiar. 

"Because  his  physician  testified  that  he  is  ill,  and 
unable  to  leave  his  bed." 

"111!"  I  exclaimed.  "Why,  neither  Halsey  nor  Ger- 
trude has  told  me  that." 

"There  are  more  things  than  that,  Miss  Innes, 
that  are  puzzling.  Bailey  gives  the  impression 
that  he  knew  nothing  of  the  crash  at  the  bank  until 
he  read  it  in  the  paper  Monday  night,  and  that  he 
went  back  and  surrendered  himself  immediately.  I  do 
not  believe  it.  Jonas,  the  watchman  at  the  Traders' 
Bank,  tells  a  different  story.  He  says  that  on  the 
Thursday  night  before,  about  eight-thirty,  Bailey 
went  back  to  the  bank.  Jonas  admitted  him,  and  he 
says  the  cashier  was  in  a  state  almost  of  collapse. 
Bailey  worked  until  midnight,  then  he  closed  the  vault 
and  went  away.  The  occurrence  was  so  unusual  that 
the  watchman  pondered  over  it  all  the  rest  of  the 
night.  What  did  Bailey  do  when  he  went  back  to  the 
Knickerbocker  apartments  that  night?  He  packed  a 
suit-case  ready  for  instant  departure.  But  he  held  off 
too  long;  he  waited  for  something.  My  personal 
opinion  is  that  he  waited  to  see  Miss  Gertrude  before 
flying  from  the  country.  Then,  when  he  had  shot 
down  Arnold  Armstrong  that  night,  he  had  to  choose 
between  two  evils.  He  did  the  thing  that  would  im- 
mediately turn  public  opinion  in  his  favor,  and  sur- 
rendered himself,  as  an  innocent  man.  The  strongest 
thing  against  him  is  his  preparation  for  flight,  and 


CONCERNING  THOMAS          169 

his  deciding  to  come  back  after  the  murder  of  Arnold 
Armstrong.  He  was  shrewd  enough  to  disarm  sus- 
picion as  to  the  graver  charge." 

The  evening  dragged  along  slowly.  Mrs.  Watson 
came  to  my  bedroom  before  I  went  to  bed  and  asked 
if  I  had  any  arnica.  She  showed  me  a  badly  swollen 
hand,  with  reddish  streaks  running  toward  the  elbow; 
she  said  it  was  the  hand  she  had  hurt  the  night  of  the 
murder  a  week  before,  and  that  she  had  not  slept  well 
since.  It  looked  to  me  as  if  it  might  be  serious,  and  I 
told  her  to  let  Doctor  Stewart  see  it. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Watson  went  up  to  town 
on  the  eleven  train,  and  was  admitted  to  the  Charity 
Hospital.  She  was  suffering  from  blood-poisoning. 
I  fully  meant  to  go  up  and  see  her  there,  but  other 
things  drove  her  entirely  from  my  mind.  I  telephoned 
to  the  hospital  that  day,  however,  and  ordered  a  pri- 
vate room  for  her,  and  whatever  comforts  she  might 
be  allowed. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  arrived  Monday  evening  with  her 
husband's  body,  and  the  services  were  set  for  the  next 
day.  The  house  on  Chestnut  Street,  in  town,  had  been 
opened,  and  Tuesday  morning  Louise  left  us  to  go 
home.  She  sent  for  me  before  she  went,  and  I  saw  she 
had  been  crying. 

"How  can  I  thank  you,  Miss  Innes?"  she  said. 
"You  have  taken  me  on  faith,  and — you  have  not 
asked  me  any  questions.  Some  time,  perhaps,  I  can 
tell  you;  and  when  that  time  comes,  you  will  all  de- 
spise me, — Halsey,  too." 


170     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

I  tried  to  tell  her  how  glad  I  was  to  have  had  her, 
but  there  was  something  else  she  wanted  to  say.  She 
said  it  finally,  when  she  had  bade  a  constrained 
good-by  to  Halsey  and  the  car  was  waiting  at  the  door. 

"Miss  Innes,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  "if  they — if 
there  is  any  attempt  made  to — to  have  you  give  up 
the  house,  do  it,  if  you  possibly  can.  I  am  afraid — 
to  have  you  stay." 

That  was  all.  Gertrude  went  into  town  with  her 
and  saw  her  safely  home.  She  reported  a  decided  cool- 
ness in  the  greeting  between  Louise  and  her  mother, 
and  that  Doctor  Walker  was  there,  apparently  in 
charge  of  the  arrangements  for  the  funeral.  Halsey 
disappeared  shortly  after  Louise  left  and  came  home 
about  nine  that  night,  muddy  and  tired.  As  for 
Thomas,  he  went  around  dejected  and  sad,  and  I  saw 
the  detective  watching  him  closely  at  dinner.  Even 
now  I  wonder — what  did  Thomas  know?  What  did 
he  suspect? 

At  ten  o'clock  the  household  had  settled  down  for 
the  night.  Liddy,  who  was  taking  Mrs.  Watson's 
place,  had  finished  examining  the  tea-towels  and  the 
corners  of  the  shelves  in  the  cooling-room,  and  had 
gone  to  bed.  Alex,  the  gardener,  had  gone  heavily  up 
the  circular  staircase  to  his  room,  and  Mr.  Jamieson 
was  examining  the  locks  of  the  windows.  Halsey 
dropped  into  a  chair  in  the  living-room,  and  stared 
moodily  ahead.  Once  he  roused. 

"What  sort  of  a  looking  chap  is  that  Walker,  Ger- 
trude?" he  asked. 


CONCERNING  THOMAS          171 

"Rather  tall,  very  dark,  smooth-shaven.  Not  bad 
looking,"  Gertrude  said,  putting  down  the  book  she 
had  been  pretending  to  read.  Halsey  kicked  a  taboret 
viciously. 

"Lovely  place  this  village  must  be  in  the  winter," 
he  said  irrelevantly.  "A  girl  would  be  buried  alive 
here." 

It  was  then  some  one  rapped  at  the  knocker  on  the 
heavy  front  door.  Halsey  got  up  leisurely  and  opened 
it,  admitting  Warner.  He  was  out  of  breath  from 
running,  and  he  looked  half  abashed. 

"I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,"  he  said.  "But  I  didn't 
know  what  else  to  do.  It's  about  Thomas." 

"What  about  Thomas  ?"  I  asked.  Mr.  Jamieson  had 
come  into  the  hall  and  we  all  stared  at  Warner. 

"He's  acting  queer,"  Warner  explained.  "He's  sit- 
ting down  there  on  the  edge  of  the  porch,  and  he  says 
he  has  seen  a  ghost.  The  old  man  looks  bad,  too;  he 
can  scarcely  speak." 

"He's  as  full  of  superstition  as  an  egg  is  of  meat," 
I  said.  "Halsey,  bring  some  whisky  and  we  will  all 
go  down." 

No  one  moved  to  get  the  whisky,  from  which  I 
judged  there  were  three  pocket  flasks  ready  for  emer- 
gency. Gertrude  threw  a  shawl  around  my  shoulders, 
and  we  all  started  down  over  the  hill :  I  had  made  so 
many  nocturnal  excursions  around  the  place  that  I 
knew  my  way  perfectly.  But  Thomas  was  not  on  the 
veranda,  nor  was  he  inside  the  house.  The  men  ex- 
changed significant  glances,  and  Warner  got  a  lantern. 


172     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"He  can't  have  gone  far,"  he  said.  "He  was  trem- 
bling so  that  he  couldn't  stand,  when  I  left." 

Jamieson  and  Halsey  together  made  the  round  of 
the  lodge,  occasionally  calling  the  old  man  by  name. 
But  there  was  no  response.  No  Thomas  came,  bowing 
and  showing  his  white  teeth  through  the  darkness.  I 
began  to  be  vaguely  uneasy,  for  the  first  time.  Ger- 
trude, who  was  never  nervous  in  the  dark,  went  alone 
down  the  drive  to  the  gate,  and  stood  there,  looking 
along  the  yellowish  line  of  the  road,  while  I  waited  on 
the  tiny  veranda. 

Warner  was  puzzled.  He  came  around  to  the  edge 
of  the  veranda  and  stood  looking  at  it  as  if  it  ought  to 
know  and  explain. 

"He  might  have  stumbled  into  the  house,"  he  said, 
"but  he  could  not  have  climbed  the  stairs.  A'nyhow, 
he's  not  inside  or  outside,  that  I  can  see."  The  other 
members  of  the  party  had  come  back  now,  and  no  one 
had  found  any  trace  of  the  old  man.  His  pipe,  still 
warm,  rested  on  the  edge  of  the  rail,  and  inside  on  the 
table  his  old  gray  hat  showed  that  its  owner  had  not 
gone  far. 

He  was  not  far,  after  all.  From  the  table  my  eyes 
traveled  around  the  room,  and  stopped  at  the  door  of 
a  closet.  I  hardly  know  what  impulse  moved  me,  but 
I  went  in  and  turned  the  knob.  It  burst  open  with  the 
impetus  of  a  weight  behind  it,  and  something  fell 
partly  forward  in  a  heap  on  the  floor.  It  was  Thomas 
— Thomas  without  a  mark  of  injury  on  him,  and 
dead. 


CHAPTER  XX 
DOCTOR  WALKER'S  WARNING 

TT 7ARNER  was  on  his  knees  in  a  moment,  fum- 
*  *  bling  at  the  old  man's  collar  to  loosen  it,  but 
Halsey  caught  his  hand. 

"Let  him  alone,"  he  said.  "You  can't  help  him;  he 
is  dead." 

We  stood  there,  each  avoiding  the  other's  eyes ;  we 
spoke  low  and  reverently  in  the  presence  of  death, 
and  we  tacitly  avoided  any  mention  of  the  suspicion 
that  was  in  every  mind.  When  Mr.  Jamieson  had 
finished  his  cursory  examination,  he  got  up  and  dusted 
the  knees  of  his  trousers. 

"There  is  no  sign  of  injury,"  he  said,  and  I  know 
I,  for  one,  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  "From  what 
Warner  says  and  from  his  hiding  in  the  closet,  I 
should  say  he  was  scared  to  death.  Fright  and  a 
weak  heart,  together." 

"But  what  could  have  done  it?"  Gertrude  asked. 
"He  was  all  right  this  evening  at  dinner.  Warner, 
what  did  he  say  when  you  found  him  on  the  porch?" 

Warner  looked  shaken :  his  honest,  boyish  face  was 
colorless. 

"Just  what  I  told  you,  Miss  Innes.  He'd  been 
reading  the  paper  down-stairs;  I  had  put  up  the  car, 
and,  feeling  sleepy,  I  came  down  to  the  lodge  to  go 
173 


174     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

to  bed.  As  I  went  up-stairs,  Thomas  put  down  the 
paper,  and,  taking  his  pipe,  went  out  on  the  porch. 
Then  I  heard  an  exclamation  from  him." 

"What  did  he  say?"  demanded  Jamieson. 

"I  couldn't  hear,  but  his  voice  was  strange;  it 
sounded  startled.  I  waited  for  him  to  call  out  again, 
but  he  did  not,  so  I  went  down-stairs.  He  was  sitting 
on  the  porch  step,  looking  straight  ahead,  as  if  he 
saw  something  among  the  trees  across  the  road.  And 
he  kept  mumbling  about  having  seen  a  ghost.  He 
looked  queer,  and  I  tried  to  get  him  inside,  but  he 
wouldn't  move.  Then  I  thought  I'd  better  go  up  to 
the  house." 

"Didn't  he  say  anything  else  you  could  under- 
stand?" I  asked. 

"He  said  something  about  the  grave  giving  up  its 
dead." 

Mr.  Jamieson  was  going  through  the  old  man's 
pockets,  and  Gertrude  was  composing  his  arms,  fold- 
ing them  across  his  white  shirt-bosom,  always  so 
spotless. 

Mr.  Jamieson  looked  up  at  me. 

"What  was  that  you  said  to  me,  Miss  Innes,  about 
the  murder  at  the  house  being  a  beginning  and  not  an 
end  ?  By  jove,  I  believe  you  were  right !" 

In  the  course  of  his  investigations  the  detective  had 
come  to  the  inner  pocket  of  the  dead  butler's  black 
coat.  Here  he  found  some  things  that  interested  him. 
One  was  a  small  flat  key,  with  a  red  cord  tied  to  it, 
and  the  other  was  a  bit  of  white  paper,  on  which  was 


DOCTOR  WALKER'S  WARNING    175 

written  something  in  Thomas'  cramped  hand.  Mr. 
Jamieson  read  it:  then  he  gave  it  to  me.  It  was  an 
address  in  fresh  ink — 


LUCIEN  WALLACE,  14  Elm  Street,  Richfield. 

As  the  card  went  around,  I  think  both  the  detective 
and  I  watched  for  any  possible  effect  it  might  have, 
but,  beyond  perplexity,  there  seemed  to  be  none. 

"Richfield!"  Gertrude  exclaimed.  "Why,  Elm 
Street  is  the  main  street;  don't  you  remember,  Hal- 
sey?" 

"Lucien  Wallace!"  Halsey  said.  "That  is  the 
child  Stewart  spoke  of  at  the  inquest." 

Warner,  with  his  mechanic's  instinct,  had  reached 
for  the  key.  What  he  said  was  not  a  surprise. 

"Yale  lock,"  he  said.  "Probably  a  key  to  the  east 
entry." 

There  was  no  reason  why  Thomas,  an  old  and 
trusted  servant,  should  not  have  had  a  key  to  that  par- 
ticular door,  although  the  servants'  entry  was  in  the 
west  wing.  But  I  had  not  known  of  this  key,  and  it 
opened  up  a  new  field  of  conjecture.  Just  now,  how- 
ever, there  were  many  things  to  be  attended  to,  and, 
leaving  Warner  with  the  body,  we  all  went  back  to  the 
house.  Mr.  Jamieson  walked  with  me,  while  Halsey 
and  Gertrude  followed. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  notify  the  Armstrongs," 
I  said.  "They  will  know  if  Thomas  had  any  people 
and  how  to  reach  them.  Of  course,  I  expect  to  defray 


176     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

the  expenses  of  the  funeral,  but  his  relatives  must  be 
found.  What  do  you  think  frightened  him,  Mr. 
Jamieson  ?" 

"It  is  hard  to  say,"  he  replied  slowly,  "but  I  think 
we  may  be  certain  it  was  fright,  and  that  he  was  hid- 
ing from  something.  I  am  sorry  in  more  than  one 
way :  I  have  always  believed  that  Thomas  knew  some- 
thing, or  suspected  something,  that  he  would  not  tell. 
Do  you  know  how  much  money  there  was  in  that  worn- 
out  wallet  of  his  ?  Nearly  a  hundred  dollars !  Almost 
two  months'  wages — and  yet  those  darkies  seldom  have 
a  penny.  Well — what  Thomas  knew  will  be  buried 
with  him." 

Halsey  suggested  that  the  grounds  be  searched,  but 
Mr.  Jamieson  vetoed  the  suggestion. 

"You  would  find  nothing,"  he  said.  "A  person 
clever  enough  to  get  into  Sunnyside  and  tear  a  hole 
in  the  wall,  while  I  watched  down-stairs,  is  not  to  be 
found  by  going  around  the  shrubbery  with  a  lantern." 

With  the  death  of  Thomas,  I  felt  that  a  climax  had 
come  in  affairs  at  Sunnyside.  The  night  that  followed 
was  quiet  enough.  Halsey  watched  at  the  foot  of  the 
staircase,  and  a  complicated  system  of  bolts  on  the 
other  doors  seemed  to  be  effectual. 

Once  in  the  night  I  wakened  and  thought  I  heard 
the  tapping  again.  But  all  was  quiet,  and  I  had 
reached  the  stage  where  I  refused  to  be  disturbed  for 
minor  occurrences. 

The  Armstrongs  were  notified  of  Thomas'  death, 
and  I  had  my  first  interview  with  Doctor  Walker  as 


DOCTOR  WALKER'S  WARNING    177 

a  result.  He  came  up  early  the  next  morning,  just  as 
we  finished  breakfast,  in  a  professional  looking  car 
with  a  black  hood.  I  found  him  striding  up  and  down 
the  living-room,  and,  in  spite  of  my  preconceived  dis- 
like, I  had  to  admit  that  the  man  was  presentable.  A 
big  fellow  he  was,  tall  and  dark,  as  Gertrude  had  said, 
smooth-shaven  and  erect,  with  prominent  features  and 
a  square  jaw.  He  was  painfully  spruce  in  his  ap- 
pearance, and  his  manner  was  almost  obtrusively 
polite. 

"I  must  make  a  double  excuse  for  this  early  visit, 
Miss  Innes,"  he  said  as  he  sat  down.  The  chair  was 
lower  than  he  expected,  and  his  dignity  required  col- 
lecting before  he  went  on.  "My  professional  duties 
are  urgent  and  long  neglected,  and" — a  fall  to  the 
every-day  manner — "something  must  be  done  about 
that  body." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  my  chair.  "I 
merely  wished  the  address  of  Thomas'  people.  You 
might  have  telephoned,  if  you  were  busy." 

He  smiled. 

"I  wished  to  see  you  about  something  else,"  he  said. 
"As  for  Thomas,  it  is  Mrs.  A'rmstrong's  wish  that 
you  allow  her  to  attend  to  the  expense.  About  his 
relatives,  I  have  already  notified  his  brother,  in  the 
village.  It  was  heart  disease,  I  think.  Thomas  al- 
ways had  a  bad  heart." 

"Heart  disease  and  fright,"  I  said,  still  on  the  edge 
of  my  chair.  But  the  doctor  had  no  intention  of 
leaving. 


178     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"I  understand  you  have  a  ghost  up  here,  and  that 
you  have  the  house  filled  with  detectives  to  exorcise  it," 
he  said. 

For  some  reason  I  felt  I  was  being  "pumped,"  as 
Halsey  says.  "You  have  been  misinformed,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"What,  no  ghost,  no  detectives !"  he  said,  still  with 
his  smile.  "What  a  disappointment  to  the  village !" 

I  resented  his  attempt  at  playfulness.  It  had  been 
anything  but  a  joke  to  us. 

"Doctor  Walker,"  I  said  tartly,  "I  fail  to  see  any 
humor  in  the  situation.  Since  I  came  here,  one  man 
has  been  shot,  and  another  one  has  died  from  shock. 
There  have  been  intruders  in  the  house,  and  strange 
noises.  If  that  is  funny,  there  is  something  wrong 
;with  my  sense  of  humor." 

"You  miss  the  point,"  he  said,  still  good-naturedly. 
"The  thing  that  is  funny,  to  me,  is  that  you  insist  on 
remaining  here,  under  the  circumstances.  I  should 
think  nothing  would  keep  you." 

"You  are  mistaken.  Everything  that  occurs  only 
confirms  my  resolution  to  stay  until  the  mystery  is 
cleared." 

"I  have  a  message  for  you,  Miss  Innes,"  he  said, 
rising  at  last.  "Mrs.  Armstrong  asked  me  to  thank 
you  for  your  kindness  to  Louise,  whose  whim,  occur- 
ring at  the  time  it  did,  put  her  to  great  inconvenience. 
Also — and  this  is  a  delicate  matter — she  asked  me  to 
appeal  to  your  natural  sympathy  for  her,  at  this  time, 
and  to  ask  you  if  you  will  not  reconsider  your  decision 


DOCTOR  WALKER'S  WARNING    179 

about  the  house.  Sunnyside  is  her  home ;  she  loves  it 
dearly,  and  just  now  she  wishes  to  retire  here  for 
quiet  and  peace." 

"She  must  have  had  a  change  of  heart,"  I  said,  un- 
graciously enough.  "Louise  told  me  her  mother  de- 
spised the  place.  Besides,  this  is  no  place  for  quiet 
and  peace  just  now.  Anyhow,  doctor,  while  I  don't 
care  to  force  an  issue,  I  shall  certainly  remain  here, 
for  a  time  at  least." 

"For  how  long?"  he  asked. 

"My  lease  is  for  six  months.  I  shall  stay  until 
some  explanation  is  found  for  certain  things.  My 
own  family  is  implicated  now,  and  I  shall  do  every- 
thing to  clear  the  mystery  of  Arnold  Armstrong's 
murder." 

The  doctor  stood  looking  down,  slapping  his  gloves 
thoughtfully  against  the  palm  of  a  well-looked-after 
hand. 

"You  say  there  have  been  intruders  in  the  house?" 
he  asked.  "You  are  sure  of  that,  Miss  Innes?" 

"Certain." 

"In  what  part?" 

"In  the  east  wing." 

"Can  you  tell  me  when  these  intrusions  occurred, 
and  what  the  purpose  seemed  to  be  ?  Was  it  robbery  ?" 

"No,"  I  said  decidedly.  "As  to  time,  once  on  Friday 
night  a  week  ago,  again  the  following  night,  when 
Arnold  Armstrong  was  murdered,  and  again  last  Fri- 
day night." 

.The  doctor  looked  serious.    He  seemed  to  be  debat- 


180    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

ing  some  question  in  his  mind,  and  to  reach  a  decision. 

"Miss  Innes,"  he  said,  "I  am  in  a  peculiar  position ; 
I  understand  your  attitude,  of  course;  but — do  you 
think  you  are  wise?  Ever  since  you  have  come  here 
there  have  been  hostile  demonstrations  against  you  and 
your  family.  I'm  not  a  croaker,  but — take  a  warning. 
Leave  before  anything  occurs  that  will  cause  you  a 
lifelong  regret." 

"I  am  willing  to  take  the  responsibility,"  I  said 
coldly. 

I  think  he  gave  me  up  then  as  a  poor  proposition. 
He  asked  to  be  shown  where  Arnold  Armstrong's  body 
had  been  found,  and  I  took  him  there.  He  scrutinized 
the  whole  place  carefully,  examining  the  stairs  and  the 
lock.  When  he  had  taken  a  formal  farewell  I  was 
confident  of  one  thing.  Doctor  Walker  would  do  any- 
thing he  could  to  get  me  away  from  Sunnyside. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FOURTEEN    ELM    STREET 

IT  was  Monday  evening  when  we  found  the  body 
of  poor  old  Thomas.  Monday  night  had  been  un- 
eventful ;  things  were  quiet  at  the  house  and  the  pecu- 
liar circumstances  of  the  old  man's  death  had  been 
carefully  kept  from  the  servants.  Rosie  took  charge 
of  the  dining-room  and  pantry,  in  the  absence  of  a 
butler,  and,  except  for  the  warning  of  the  Casanova 
doctor,  everything  breathed  of  peace. 

Affairs  at  the  Traders'  Bank  were  progressing 
slowly.  The  failure  had  hit  small  stock-holders  very 
hard,  the  minister  of  the  little  Methodist  chapel  in 
Casanova  among  them.  He  had  received  as  a  legacy 
from  an  uncle  a  few  shares  of  stock  in  the  Traders' 
Bank,  and  now  his  joy  was  turned  to  bitterness:  he 
had  to  sacrifice  everything  he  had  in  the  world,  and 
his  feeling  against  Paul  Armstrong,  dead,  as  he  was, 
must  'have  been  bitter  in  the  extreme.  He  was  asked 
to  officiate  at  the  simple  services  when  the  dead  bank- 
er's body  was  interred  in  Casanova  churchyard,  but 
the  good  man  providentially  took  cold,  and  a  substi- 
tute was  called  in. 

A  few  days  after  the  services  he  called  to  see  me,  a 
kind-faced  little  man,  in  a  very  bad  frock-coat  and 
laundered  tie.  I  think  he  was  uncertain  as  to  my  con- 

181 


182     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

nection  with  the  Armstrong  family,  and  dubious 
whether  I  considered  Mr.  Armstrong's  taking  away  a 
matter  for  condolence  or  congratulation.  He  was  not 
long  in  doubt. 

I  liked  the  little  man.  He  had  known  Thomas  well, 
and  had  promised  to  officiate  at  the  services  in  the 
rickety  African  Zion  Church.  He  told  me  more  of 
himself  than  he  knew,  and  before  he  left,  I  astonished 
him — and  myself,  I  admit — by  promising  a  new 
carpet  for  his  church.  He  was  much  affected,  and  I 
gathered  that  he  had  yearned  over  his  ragged  chapel 
as  a  mother  over  a  half -clothed  child. 

"You  are  laying  up  treasure,  Miss  Innes,"  he  said 
brokenly,  "where  neither  moth  nor  rust  corrupt,  nor 
thieves  break  through  and  steal." 

"It  is  certainly  a  safer  place  than  Sunnyside,"  I 
admitted.  And  the  thought  of  the  carpet  permitted 
him  to  smile.  He  stood  just  inside  the  doorway,  look- 
ing from  the  luxury  of  the  house  to  the  beauty  of  the 
view. 

"The  rich  ought  to  be  good,"  he  said  wistfully. 
"They  have  so  much  that  is  beautiful,  and  beauty  is 
ennobling.  And  yet — while  I  ought  to  say  nothing 
but  good  of  the  dead — Mr.  Armstrong  saw  nothing 
of  this  fair  prospect.  To  him  these  trees  and  lawns 
were  not  the  work  of  God.  They  were  property,  at 
so  much  an  acre.  He  loved  money,  Miss  Innes.  He 
offered  up  everything  to  his  golden  calf.  Not  power, 
not  ambition,  was  his  fetish:  it  was  money."  Then 
he  dropped  his  pulpit  manner,  and,  turning  to  me  with 


FOURTEEN  ELM  STREET       183 

his  engaging  smile:  "In  spite  of  all  this  luxury,"  he 
said,  "the  country  people  here  have  a  saying  that  Mr. 
Paul  Armstrong  could  sit  on  a  dollar  and  see  all 
around  it.  Unlike  the  summer  people,  he  gave  neither 
to  the  poor  nor  to  the  church.  He  loved  money  for  its 
own  sake." 

"And  there  are  no  pockets  in  shrouds!"  I  said 
cynically. 

I  sent  him  home  in  the  car,  with  a  bunch  of  hot- 
house roses  for  his  wife,  and  he  was  quite  over- 
whelmed. As  for  me,  I  had  a  generous  glow  that  was 
cheap  at  the  price  of  a  church  carpet.  I  received  less 
gratification — and  less  gratitude — when  I  presented 
the  new  silver  communion  set  to  St.  Barnabas. 

I  had  a  great  many  things  to  think  about  in  those 
days.  I  made  out  a  list  of  questions  and  possible  an- 
swers, but  I  seemed  only  to  be  working  around  in  a 
circle.  I  always  ended  where  I  began.  The  list  was 
something  like  this : 

Who  had  entered  the  house  the  night  before  the  murder? 

Thomas  claimed  it  was  Mr.  Bailey,  whom  he  had  seen  on  the 
foot-path,  and  who  owned  the  pearl  cuff-link. 

Why  did  Arnold  Armstrong  come  back  after  he  had  left  the 
house  the  night  he  was  killed? 

No  answer.    Was  it  on  the  mission  Louise  had  mentioned? 

Who  admitted  him? 

Gertrude  said  she  had  locked  the  east  entry.  There  was  no 
key  on  the  dead  man  or  in  the  door.  He  must  have  been  ad- 
mitted from  within. 

Who  had  been  locked  in  the  clothes  chute? 

Some  one  unfamiliar  with  the  house,  evidently.  Only  two 
people  missing  from  the  household,  Rosie  and  Gertrude.  Rosie 


184     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

had  been  at  the  lodge.  Therefore — but  was  it  Gertrude?  Might 
it  not  have  been  the  mysterious  intruder  again? 

Who  had  accosted  Rosie  on  the  drive? 

Again — perhaps  the  nightly  visitor.  It  seemed  more  likely 
some  one  who  suspected  a  secret  at  the  lodge.  Was  Louise  under 
surveillance  ? 

Who   had  passed  Louise  on  the  circular  staircase? 

Could  it  have  been  Thomas?  The  key  to  the  east  entry  made 
this  a  possibility.  But  why  was  he  there,  if  it  were  indeed  he? 

Who  had  made  the  hole  in  the  trunk- room  wall? 

It  was  not  vandalism.  It  had  been  done  quietly,  and  with  de- 
liberate purpose.  If  I  had  only  known  how  to  read  the  purpose 
of  that  gaping  aperture  what  I  might  have  saved  in  anxiety  and 
mental  strain ! 

Why  had  Louise  left  her  people  and  come  home  to  hide  at  the 
lodge? 

There  was  no  answer,  as  yet,  to  this,  or  to  the  next  questions. 

Why  did  both  she  and  Doctor  Walker  warn  us  away  from  the 
house? 

Who  was  Lucien  Wallace? 

What  did  Thomas  see  in  the  shadows  the  night  he  died? 

What  was  the  meaning  of  the  subtle  change  in  Gertrude? 

Was  Jack  Bailey  an  accomplice  or  a  victim  in  the  looting  of 
the  Traders'  Bank? 

What  all-powerful  reason  made  Louise  determine  to  marry 
Doctor  Walker? 

The  examiners  were  still  working  on  the  t>oolcs  of 
the  Traders'  Bank,  and  it  was  probable  that  several 
weeks  would  elapse  before  everything  was  cleared  up. 
The  firm  of  expert  accountants  who  had  examined  the 
books  some  two  months  before  testified  that  every 
bond,  every  piece  of  valuable  paper,  was  there  at  that 
time.  It  had  been  shortly  after  their  examination  that 
the  president,  who  had  been  in  bad  health,  had  gone  to 
California.  Mr.  Bailey  was  still  ill  at  the  Knicker- 


FOURTEEN  ELM  STREET       185 

bocker,  and  in  this,  as  in  other  ways,  Gertrude's 
conduct  puzzled  me.  She  seemed  indifferent,  refused 
to  discuss  matters  pertaining  to  the  bank,  and  never,  to 
my  knowledge,  either  wrote  to  him  or  went  to  see 
him.  Gradually  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Gertrude, 
with  the  rest  of  the  world,  believed  her  lover  guilty, 
and — although  I  believed  it  myself,  for  that  matter — 
I  was  irritated  by  her  indifference.  Girls  in  my  day 
did  not  meekly  accept  the  public's  verdict  as  to  the 
man  they  loved. 

But  presently  something  occurred  that  made  me 
think  that  under  Gertrude's  surface  calm  there  was  a 
seething  flood  of  emotions. 

Tuesday  morning  the  detective  made  a  careful 
search  of  the  grounds,  but  he  found  nothing.  In  the 
afternoon  he  disappeared,  and  it  was  late  that  night 
when  he  came  home.  He  said  he  would  have  to  go 
back  to  the  city  the  following  day,  and  arranged  with 
Halsey  and  Alex  to  guard  the  house. 

Liddy  came  to  me  on  Wednesday  morning  with  her 
black  silk  apron  held  up  like  a  bag,  and  her  eyes  big 
with  virtuous  wrath.  It  was  the  day  of  Thomas'  fu- 
neral in  the  village,  and  Alex  and  I  were  in  the  con- 
servatory cutting  flowers  for  the  old  man's  casket. 
Liddy  is  never  so  happy  as  when  she  is  making  her- 
self wretched,  and  now  her  mouth  drooped  while  her 
eyes  wefe  triumphant. 

"I  always  said  there  were  plenty  of  things  going  on 
here,  right  under  our  noses,  that  we  couldn't  see,"  she 
said,  holding  out  her  apron. 


186     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"I  don't  see  with  my  nose,"  I  remarked.  "What 
have  you  got  there  ?" 

Liddy  pushed  aside  a  half-dozen  geranium  pots,  and 
in  the  space  thus  cleared  she  dumped  the  contents  of 
her  apron — a  handful  of  tiny  bits  of  paper.  Alex 
had  stepped  back,  but  I  saw  him  watching  her  curi- 
ously. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Liddy,"  I  said.  "You  have  been 
going  through  the  library  paper-basket  again!" 

Liddy  was  arranging  her  bits  of  paper  with  the 
skill  of  long  practice  and  paid  no  attention. 

"Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,"  I  went  on,  putting  my 
hand  over  the  scraps,  "that  when  people  tear  up  their 
correspondence,  it  is  for  the  express  purpose  of  keep- 
ing it  from  being  read?" 

"If  they  wasn't  ashamed  of  it  they  wouldn't  take 
so  much  trouble,  Miss  Rachel,"  Liddy  said  oracularly. 
"More  than  that,  with  things  happening  every  day,  I 
consider  it  my  duty.  If  you  don't  read  and  act  on 
this,  I  shall  give  it  to  that  Jamieson,  and  I'll  venture 
he'll  not  go  back  to  the  city  to-day." 

That  decided  me.  If  the  scraps  had  anything  to 
do  with  the  mystery  ordinary  conventions  had  no 
value.  So  Liddy  arranged  the  scraps,  like  working 
out  one  of  the  puzzle-pictures  children  play  with,  and 
she  did  it  with  much  the  same  eagerness.  When  it  was 
finished  she  stepped  aside  while  I  read  it. 

"Wednesday  night,  nine  o'clock.  Bridge,"  I  read 
aloud.  Then,  aware  of  Alex's  stare,  I  turned  on 
Liddy. 


FOURTEEN  ELM  STREET       187 

"Some  one  is  to  play  bridge  to-night  at  nine  o'clock,'* 
I  said.  "Is  that  your  business,  or  mine?" 

Liddy  was  aggrieved.  She  was  about  to  reply  when 
I  scooped  up  the  pieces  and  left  the  conservatory. 

"Now  then,"  I  said,  when  we  got  outside,  "will  you 
tell  me  why  you  choose  to  take  Alex  into  your  con- 
fidence? He's  no  fool.  Do  you  suppose  he  thinks 
any  one  in  this  house  is  going  to  play  bridge  to-night 
at  nine  o'clock,  by  appointment!  I  suppose  you  have 
shown  it  in  the  kitchen,  and  instead  of  my  being  able 
to  slip  down  to  the  bridge  to-night  quietly,  and  see 
who  is  there,  the  whole  household  will  be  going  in  a 
procession." 

"Nobody  knows  it,"  Liddy  said  humbly.  "I  found 
it  in  the  basket  in  Miss  Gertrude's  dressing-room. 
Look  at  the  back  of  the  sheet."  I  turned  over  some 
of  the  scraps,  and,  sure  enough,  it  was  a  blank  deposit 
slip  from  the  Traders'  Bank.  So  Gertrude  was  going 
to  meet  Jack  Bailey  that  night  by  the  bridge !  And  I 
had  thought  he  was  ill!  It  hardly  seemed  like  the 
action  of  an  innocent  man — this  avoidance  of  day- 
light, and  of  his  fiancee's  people.  I  decided  to  make 
certain,  however,  by  going  to  the  bridge  that  night. 

After  luncheon  Mr.  Jamieson  suggested  that  I  go 
with  him  to  Richfield,  and  I  consented. 

"I  am  inclined  to  place  more  faith  in  Doctor  Stew- 
art's story,"  he  said,  "since  I  found  that  scrap  in  old 
Thomas'  pocket.  It  bears  out  the  statement  that  the 
woman  with  the  child,  and  the  woman  who  quarreled 
with  Armstrong,  are  the  same.  It  looks  as  if  Thomas 


188     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

had  stumbled  on  to  some  affair  which  was  more  or  less 
discreditable  to  the  dead  man,  and,  with  a  certain  loy- 
alty to  the  family,  had  kept  it  to  himself.  Then,  you 
see,  your  story  about  the  woman  at  the  card-room 
window  begins  to  mean  something.  It  is  the  nearest 
approach  to  anything  tangible  that  we  have  had  yet." 

Warner  took  us  to  Richfield  in  the  car.  It  was 
about  twenty-five  miles  by  railroad,  but  by  taking  a 
series  of  atrociously  rough  short  cuts  we  got  there 
very  quickly.  It  was  a  pretty  little  town,  on  the  river, 
and  back  on  the  hill  I  could  see  the  Mortons'  big  coun- 
try house,  where  Halsey  and  Gertrude  had  been  stay- 
ing until  the  night  of  the  murder. 

Elm  Street  was  almost  the  only  street,  and  number 
fourteen  was  easily  found.  It  was  a  small  white 
house,  dilapidated  without  having  gained  anything 
picturesque,  with  a  low  window  and  a  porch  only  a 
foot  or  so  above  the  bit  of  a  lawn.  There  was  a  baby- 
carriage  in  the  path,  and  from  a  swing  at  the  side 
came  the  sound  of  conflict.  Three  small  children  were 
disputing  vociferously,  and  a  faded  young  woman 
with  a  kindly  face  was  trying  to  hush  the  clamor. 
When  she  saw  us  she  untied  her  gingham  apron  and 
came  around  to  the  porch. 

"Good  afternoon,"  I  said.  Jamieson  lifted  his  hat, 
without  speaking.  "I  came  to  inquire  about  a  child 
named  Lucien  Wallace." 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  she  said.  "In  spite  of 
the  other  children,  I  think  the  little  fellow  is  lonely. 
We  thought  perhaps  his  mother  would  be  here  to-day." 


FOURTEEN  ELM  STREET       189 

Mr.  Jamieson  stepped  forward. 

"You  are  Mrs.  Tate?"  I  wondered  how  the  de- 
tective knew. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Mrs.  Tate,  we  want  to  make  some  inquiries.  Per- 
haps in  the  house — " 

"Come  right  in,"  she  said  hospitably.  And  soon 
we  were  in  the  little  shabby  parlor,  exactly  like  a 
thousand  of  its  prototypes.  Mrs.  Tate  sat  uneasily, 
her  hands  folded  in  her  lap. 

"How  long  has  Lucien  been  here?"  Mr.  Jamieson 
asked. 

"Since  a  week  ago  last  Friday.  His  mother  paid 
one  week's  board  in  advance;  the  other  has  not  been 
paid." 

"Was  he  ill  when  he  came?" 

"No,  sir,  not  what  you'd  call  sick.  He  was  get- 
ting better  of  typhoid,  she  said,  and  he's  picking  up 
fine." 

"Will  you  tell  me  his  mother's  name  and  address  ?" 

"That's  the  trouble,"  the  young  woman  said,  knit- 
ting her  brows.  "She  gave  her  name  as  Mrs.  Wallace, 
and  said  she  had  no  address.  She  was  looking  for  a 
boarding-house  in  town.  She  said  she  worked  in  a 
department  store,  and  couldn't  take  care  of  the  child 
properly,  and  he  needed  fresh  air  and  milk.  I  had 
three  children  of  my  own,  and  one  more  didn't  make 
much  difference  in  the  work,  but — I  wish  she  would 
pay  this  week's  board." 

"Did  she  say  what  store  it  was  ?** 


190     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"No,  sir,  but  all  the  boy's  clothes  came  from  King's. 
He  has  far  too  fine  clothes  for  the  country." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  shouts  and  shrill  yells  from 
the  front  door,  followed  by  the  loud  stamping  of  chil- 
dren's feet  and  a  throaty  "whoa,  whoa!"  Into  the 
room  came  a  tandem  team  of  two  chubby  youngsters, 
a  boy  and  a  girl,  harnessed  with  a  clothes-line,  and 
driven  by  a  laughing  boy  of  about  seven,  in  tan  over- 
alls and  brass  buttons.  The  small  driver  caught  my 
attention  at  once:  he  was  a  beautiful  child,  and, 
although  he  showed  traces  of  recent  severe  illness,  his 
skin  had  now  the  clear  transparency  of  health. 

"Whoa,  Flinders,"  he  shouted.  "You're  goin'  to 
smash  the  trap." 

Mr.  Jamieson  coaxed  him  over  by  holding  out  a 
lead-pencil,  striped  blue  and  yellow. 

"Now,  then,"  he  said,  when  the  boy  had  taken  the 
lead-pencil  and  was  testing  its  usefulness  on  the  de- 
tective's cuff,  "now  then,  I'll  bet  you  don't  know  what 
your  name  is!" 

"I  do,"  said  the  boy.    "Lucien  Wallace." 

"Great!    And  what's  your  mother's  name?" 

"Mother,  of  course.  What's  your  mother's  name?" 
And  he  pointed  to  me!  I  am  going  to  stop  wearing 
black ;  it  doubles  a  woman's  age. 

"And  where  did  you  live  before  you  came  here?" 
The  detective  was  polite  enough  not  to  smile. 

"Grossmutter,"  he  said.  And  I  saw  Mr.  Jamieson's 
eyebrows  go  up. 


FOURTEEN  ELM  STREET       191 

"German,"  he  commented.  "Well,  young  man,  you 
don't  seem  to  know  much  about  yourself." 

"I've  tried  it  all  week,"  Mrs.  Tate  broke  in.  "The 
boy  knows  a  word  or  two  of  German,  but  he  doesn't 
know  where  he  lived,  or  anything  about  himself." 

Mr.  Jamieson  wrote  something  on  a  card  and  gave 
it  to  her. 

"Mrs.  Tate,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  do  something. 
Here  is  some  money  for  the  telephone  call.  The  in- 
stant the  boy's  mother  appears  here,  call  up  that  num- 
ber and  ask  for  the  person  whose  name  is  there.  You 
can  run  across  to  the  drug-store  on  an  errand  and  do 
it  quietly.  Just  say,  'The  lady  has  come.'  " 

'''  'The  lady  has  come,'  "  repeated  Mrs.  Tate.  "Very 
well,  sir,  and  I  hope  it  will  be  soon.  The  milk-bill 
alone  is  almost  double  what  it  was." 

"How  much  is  the  child's  board?"  I  asked. 

"Three  dollars  a  week,  including  his  washing." 

"Very  well,"  I  said.  "Now,  Mrs.  Tate,  I  am  going 
to  pay  last  week's  board  and  a  week  in  advance.  If 
the  mother  comes,  she  is  to  know  nothing  of  this  visit 
— absolutely  not  a  word,  and,  in  return  for  your  si- 
lence, you  may  use  this  money  for — something  for 
your  own  children." 

Her  tired,  faded  face  lighted  up,  and  I  saw  her 
glance  at  the  little  Tates'  small  feet.  Shoes,  I  di- 
vined— the  feet  of  the  genteel  poor  being  almost  as 
expensive  as  their  stomachs. 

As  we  went  back  Mr.  Jamieson  made  only  one  re- 


192     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

mark :  I  think  he  was  laboring  under  the  weight  of  a 
great  disappointment. 

"Is  King's  a  children's  outfitting  place?"  he  asked. 

"Not  especially.     It  is  a  general  department  store." 

He  was  silent  after  that,  but  he  went  to  the  tele- 
phone as  soon  as  we  got  home,  and  called  up  King 
and  Company,  in  the  city. 

After  a  time  he  got  the  general  manager,  and  they 
talked  for  some  time.  When  Mr.  Jamieson  hung  up 
the  receiver  he  turned  to  me. 

"The  plot  thickens,"  he  said  with  his  ready  smile. 
"There  are  four  women  named  Wallace  at  King's, 
none  of  them  married,  and  none  over  twenty.  I  think 
I  shall  go  up  to  the  city  to-night.  I  want  to  go  to  the 
Children's  Hospital.  But  before  I  go,  Miss  Innes,  I 
wish  you  would  be  more  frank  with  me  than  you  have 
been  yet.  I  want  you  to  show  me  the  revolver  you 
picked  up  in  the  tulip  bed." 

So  he  had  known  all  along ! 

"It  was  a  revolver,  Mr.  Jamieson,"  I  admitted,  cor- 
nered at  last,  "but  I  can  not  show  it  to  you.  It  is  not 
in  my  possession." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A   LADDER   OUT   OF   PLACE 

AT  dinner  Mr.  Jamieson  suggested  sending  a  man 
out  in  his  place  for  a  couple  of  days,  but  Halsey 
was  certain  there  would  be  nothing  more,  and  felt  that 
he  and  Alex  could  manage  the  situation.  The  detective 
went  back  to  town  early  in  the  evening,  and  by  nine 
o'clock  Halsey,  who  had  been  playing  golf — as  a  man 
does  anything  to  take  his  mind  away  from  trouble — 
was  sleeping  soundly  on  the  big  leather  davenport  in 
the  living-room. 

I  sat  and  knitted,  pretending  not  to  notice  when 
Gertrude  got  up  and  wandered  out  into  the  starlight. 
As  soon  as  I  was  satisfied  that  she  had  gone,  however, 
I  went  out  cautiously.  I  had  no  intention  of  eaves- 
dropping, but  I  wanted  to  be  certain  that  it  was  Jack 
Bailey  she  was  meeting.  Too  many  things  had  oc- 
curred in  which  Gertrude  was,  or  appeared  to  be, 
involved,  to  allow  anything  to  be  left  in  question. 

I  went  slowly  across  the  lawn,  skirted  the  hedge  to 
a  break  not  far  from  the  lodge,  and  found  myself  on 
the  open  road.  Perhaps  a  hundred  feet  to  the  left  the 
path  led  across  the  valley  to  the  Country  Club,  and 
only  a  little  way  off  was  the  foot-bridge  over  Casanova 
Creek.  But  just  as  I  was  about  to  turn  down  the  path 
I  heard  steps  coming  toward  me,  and  I  shrank  into  the 

193 


194     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

bushes.  It  was  Gertrude,  going  back  quickly  toward 
the  house. 

I  was  surprised.  I  waited  until  she  had  had  time  to 
get  almost  to  the  house  before  I  started.  And  then  I 
stepped  back  again  into  the  shadows.  The  reason  why 
Gertrude  had  not  kept  her  tryst  was  evident.  Leaning 
on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge  in  the  moonlight,  and 
smoking  a  pipe,  was  Alex,  the  gardener.  I  could  have 
throttled  Liddy  for  her  carelessness  in  reading  the 
torn  note  where  he  could  hear.  And  I  could  cheerfully 
have  choked  Alex  to  death  for  his  audacity. 

But  there  was  no  help  for  it :  I  turned  and  followed 
Gertrude  slowly  back  to  the  house. 

The  frequent  invasions  of  the  house  had  effectually 
prevented  any  relaxation  after  dusk.  We  had  re- 
doubled our  vigilance  as  to  bolts  and  window-locks, 
but,  as  Mr.  Jamieson  had  suggested,  we  allowed  the 
door  at  the  east  entry  to  remain  as  before,  locked  by 
the  Yale  lock  only.  To  provide  only  one  possible  en- 
trance for  the  invader,  and  to  keep  a  constant  guard 
in  the  dark  at  the  foot  of  the  circular  staircase,  seemed 
to  be  the  only  method. 

In  the  absence  of  the  detective,  Alex  and  Halsey 
arranged  to  change  off,  Halsey  to  be  on  duty  from  ten 
to  two,  and  Alex  from  two  until  six.  Each  man  was 
armed,  and,  as  an  additional  precaution,  the  one  off 
duty  slept  in  a  room  near  the  head  of  the  circular  stair- 
case and  kept  his  door  open,  to  be  ready  for  emer- 
gency. 

These  arrangements  were  carefully  kept  from  the 


A  LADDER  OUT  OF  PLACE     195 

servants,  who  were  only  commencing  to  sleep  at  night, 
and  who  retired,  one  and  all,  with  barred  doors  and 
lamps  that  burned  full  until  morning. 

The  house  was  quiet  again  Wednesday  night.  It 
was  almost  a  week  since  Louise  had  encountered  some 
one  on  the  stairs,  and  it  was  four  days  since  the  dis- 
covery of  the  hole  in  the  trunk-room  wall.  Arnold 
Armstrong  and  his  father  rested  side  by  side  in  the 
Casanova  churchyard,  and  at  the  Zion  African  Church, 
on  the  hill,  a  new  mound  marked  the  last  resting-place 
of  poor  Thomas. 

Louise  was  with  her  mother  in  town,  and,  beyond  a 
polite  note  of  thanks  to  me,  we  had  heard  nothing 
from  her.  Doctor  Walker  had  taken  up  his  practice 
again,  and  we  saw  him  now  and  then  flying  past 
along  the  road,  always  at  top  speed.  The  murder  of 
Arnold  Armstrong  was  still  unavenged,  and  I  re- 
mained firm  in  the  position  I  had  taken — to  stay 
at  Sunnyside  until  the  thing  was  at  least  partly 
cleared. 

And  yet,  for  all  its  quiet,  it  was  on  Wednesday 
night  that  perhaps  the  boldest  attempt  was  made  to 
enter  the  house.  On  Thursday  afternoon  the  laundress 
sent  word  she  would  like  to  speak  to  me,  and  I  saw  her 
in  my  private  sitting-room,  a  small  room  beyond  the 
dressing-room. 

Mary  Anne  was  embarrassed.  She  had  rolled  down 
her  sleeves  and  tied  a  white  apron  around  her  waist, 
and  she  stood  making  folds  in  it  with  ringers  that 
were  red  and  shiny  from  the  soap-suds. 


196     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"Well,  Mary,"  I  said  encouragingly,  "what's  the 
matter?  Don't  dare  to  tell  me  the  soap  is  out." 

"No,  ma'm,  Miss  Innes."  She  had  a  nervous  habit 
of  looking  first  at  my  one  eye  and  then  at  the  other, 
her  own  optics  shifting  ceaselessly,  right  eye,  left  eye, 
right  eye,  until  I  found  myself  doing  the  same  thing. 
"No,  ma'm.  I  was  askin'  did  you  want  the  ladder  left 
up  the  clothes  chute  ?" 

"The  what?"  I  screeched,  and  was  sorry  the  next 
minute.  Seeing  her  suspicions  were  verified,  Mary 
Anne  had  gone  white,  and  stood  with  her  eyes  shifting 
more  wildly  than  ever. 

"There's  a  ladder  up  the  clothes  chute,  Miss  Innes," 
she  said.  "It's  up  that  tight  I  can't  move  it,  and  I 
didn't  like  to  ask  for  help  until  I  spoke  to  you." 

It  was  useless  to  dissemble;  Mary  Anne  knew  now 
as  well  as  I  did  that  the  ladder  had  no  business  to  be 
there.  I  did  the  best  I  could,  however.  I  put  her  on 
the  defensive  at  once. 

"Then  you  didn't  lock  the  laundry  last  night?" 

"I  locked  it  tight,  and  put  the  key  in  the  kitchen  on 
its  nail." 

"Very  well,  then  you  forgot  a  window." 

Mary  Anne  hesitated. 

"Yes'm,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  thought  I  locked  them 
all,  but  there  was  one  open  this  morning." 

I  went  out  of  the  room  and  down  the  hall,  followed 
by  Mary  Anne.  The  door  into  the  clothes  chute  was 
securely  bolted,  and  when  I  opened  it  I  saw  the  evi- 


A  LADDER  OUT  OF  PLACE     197 

dence  of  the  woman's  story.  A  pruning-ladder  had 
been  brought  from  where  it  had  lain  against  the  stable 
and  now  stood  upright  in  the  clothes  shaft,  its  end 
resting  against  the  wall  between  the  first  and  second 
floors. 

I  turned  to  Mary. 

"This  is  due  to  your  carelessness,"  I  said.  "If  we 
had  all  been  murdered  in  our  beds  it  would  have  been 
your  fault."  She  shivered.  "Now,  not  a  word  of  this 
through  the  house,  and  send  Alex  to  me." 

The  effect  on  Alex  was  to  make  him  apoplectic  with 
rage,  and  with  it  all  I  fancied  there  was  an  element  of 
satisfaction.  As  I  look  back,  so  many  things  are 
plain  to  me  that  I  wonder  I  could  not  see  at  the  time. 
It  is  all  known  now,  and  yet  the  whole  thing  was  so 
remarkable  that  perhaps  my  stupidity  was  excusable. 

Alex  leaned  down  the  chute  and  examined  the  ladder 
carefully. 

"It  is  caught,"  he  said  with  a  grim  smile.  "The 
fools,  to  have  left  a  warning  like  that!  The  only 
trouble  is,  Miss  Innes,  they  won't  be  apt  to  come  back 
for  a  while." 

"I  shouldn't  regard  that  in  the  light  of  a  calamity," 
I  replied. 

Until  late  that  evening  Halsey  and  Alex  worked  at 
the  chute.  They  forced  down  the  ladder  at  last,  and 
put  a  new  bolt  on  the  door.  As  for  myself,  I  sat  and 
wondered  if  I  had  a  deadly  enemy,  intent  on  my 
destruction. 


198     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

I  was  growing  more  and  more  nervous.  Liddy  had 
given  up  all  pretense  at  bravery,  and  slept  regularly 
in  my  dressing-room  on  the  couch,  with  a  prayer-book 
and  a  game  knife  from  the  kitchen  under  her  pillow, 
thus  preparing  for  both  the  natural  and  the  super- 
natural. That  was  the  way  things  stood  that  Thurs- 
day night,  when  I  myself  took  a  hand  in  the  struggle. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WHILE   THE   STABLES   BURNED 

ABOUT  nine  o'clock  that  night  Liddy  came  into 
the  living-room  and  reported  that  one  of  the 
housemaids  declared  she  had  seen  two  men  slip  around 
the  corner  of  the  stable.  Gertrude  had  been  sitting 
staring  in  front  of  her,  jumping  at  every  sound.  Now 
she  turned  on  Liddy  pettishly. 

"I  declare,  Liddy,"  she  said,  "you  are  a  bundle  of 
nerves.  What  if  Eliza  did  see  some  men  around  the 
stable?  It  may  have  been  Warner  and  Alex." 

"Warner  is  in  the  kitchen,  miss,"  Liddy  said  with 
dignity.  "And  if  you  had  come  through  what  I  have, 
you  would  be  a  bundle  of  nerves,  too.  Miss  Rachel, 
I'd  be  thankful  if  you'd  give  me  my  month's  wages 
to-morrow.  I'll  be  going  to  my  sister's." 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  to  her  evident  amazement.  "I 
will  make  out  the  check.  Warner  can  take  you  down 
to  the  noon  train." 

Liddy's  face  was  really  funny. 

"You'll  have  a  nice  time  at  your  sister's,"  I  went 
on.  "Five  children,  hasn't  she?" 

"That's  it,"  Liddy  said,  suddenly  bursting  into 
tears.  "Send  me  away,  after  all  these  years,  and  your 
new  shawl  only  half  done,  and  nobody  knowin'  how  to 
fix  the  water  for  your  bath." 

199 


200     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"It's  time  I  learned  to  prepare  my  own  bath."  I  was 
knitting  complacently.  But  Gertrude  got  up  and  put 
her  arms  around  Liddy's  shaking  shoulders. 

"You  are  two  big  babies,"  she  said  soothingly. 
"Neither  one  of  you  could  get  along  for  an  hour  with- 
out the  other.  So  stop  quarreling  and  be  good.  Liddy, 
go  right  up  and  lay  out  Aunty's  night  things.  She  is 
going  to  bed  early." 

After  Liddy  had  gone  I  began  to  think  about  the 
men  at  the  stable,  and  I  grew  more  and  more  anxious. 
Halsey  was  aimlessly  knocking  the  billiard-balls  around 
in  the  billiard-room,  and  I  called  to  him. 

"Halsey,"  I  said  when  he  sauntered  in,  "is  there  a 
policeman  in  Casanova  ?" 

"Constable,"  he  said  laconically.  "Veteran  of  the 
war,  one  arm;  in  office  to  conciliate  the  G.  A.  R.  ele- 
ment. Why  ?" 

"Because  I  am  uneasy  to-night."  And  I  told  him 
what  Liddy  had  said.  "Is  there  any  one  you  can 
think  of  who  could  be  relied  on  to  watch  the  outside 
of  the  house  to-night?" 

"We  might  get  Sam  Bohannon  from  the  club,"  he 
said  thoughtfully.  "It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  scheme. 
He's  a  smart  darky,  and  with  his  mouth  shut  and  his 
shirt-front  covered,  you  couldn't  see  him  a  yard  off 
in  the  dark." 

Halsey  conferred  with  Alex,  and  the  result,  in  an 
hour,  was  Sam.  His  instructions  were  simple.  There 
had  been  numerous  attempts  to  break  into  the  house; 
it  was  the  intention,  not  to  drive  intruders  away,  but 


WHILE  THE  STABLES  BURNED    201 

to  capture  them.  If  Sam  saw  anything  suspicious 
outside,  he  was  to  tap  at  the  east  entry,  where  Alex 
and  Halsey  were  to  alternate  in  keeping  watch  through 
the  night. 

It  was  with  a  comfortable  feeling  of  security  that  I 
went  to  bed  that  night.  The  door  between  Gertrude's 
rooms  and  mine  had  been  opened,  and,  with  the  doors 
into  the  hall  bolted,  we  were  safe  enough.  Although 
Liddy  persisted  in  her  belief  that  doors  would  prove 
no  obstacles  to  our  disturbers. 

As  before,  Halsey  watched  the  east  entry  from  ten 
until  two.  He  had  an  eye  to  comfort,  and  he  kept 
vigil  in  a  heavy  oak  chair,  very  large  and  deep.  We 
went  up-stairs  rather  early,  and  through  the  open 
door  Gertrude  and  I  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  con- 
versation. Liddy  was  brushing  my  hair,  and  Gertrude 
was  doing  her  own,  with  a  long  free  sweep  of  her 
strong  round  arms. 

"Did  you  know  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  Louise  are  in 
the  village  ?"  she  called. 

"No,"  I  replied,  startled.    "How  did  you  hear  it?" 

"I  met  the  oldest  Stewart  girl  to-day,  the  doctor's 
daughter,  and  she  told  me  they  had  not  gone  back  to 
town  after  the  funeral.  They  went  directly  to  that 
little  yellow  house  next  to  Doctor  Walker's,  and  are 
apparently  settled  there.  They  took  the  house  fur- 
nished for  the  summer." 

"Why,  it's  a  bandbox,"  I  said.  "I  can't  imagine 
Fanny  Armstrong  in  such  a  place." 

"It's  true,   nevertheless.     Ella  Stewart   says  Mrs. 


202     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

Armstrong  has  aged  terribly,  and  looks  as  if  she  is 
hardly  able  to  walk." 

I  lay  and  thought  over  some  of  these  things  until 
midnight  The  electric  lights  went  out  then,  fading 
slowly  until  there  was  only  a  red-hot  loop  to  be  seen 
in  the  bulb,  and  then  even  that  died  away  and  we  were 
embarked  on  the  darkness  of  another  night. 

Apparently  only  a  few  minutes  elapsed,  during 
which  my  eyes  were  becoming  accustomed  to  the  dark- 
ness. Then  I  noticed  that  the  windows  were  reflecting 
a  faint  pinkish  light;  Liddy  noticed  it  at  the  same 
time,  and  I  heard  her  jump  up.  At  that  moment 
Sam's  deep  voice  boomed  from  somewhere  just  below. 

"Fire !"  he  yelled.    "The  stable's  on  fire !" 

I  could  see  him  in  the  glare  dancing  up  and  down 
on  the  drive,  and  a  moment  later  Halsey  joined  him. 
Alex  was  awake  and  running  down  the  stairs,  and  in 
five  minutes  from  the  time  the  fire  was  discovered, 
three  of  the  maids  were  sitting  on  their  trunks  in  the 
drive,  although,  excepting  a  few  sparks,  there  was  no 
fire  nearer  than  a  hundred  yards. 

Gertrude  seldom  loses  her  presence  of  mind,  and  she 
ran  to  the  telephone.  But  by  the  time  the  Casanova 
volunteer  fire  department  came  toiling  up  the  hill  the 
stable  was  a  furnace,  with  the  Dragon  Fly  safe  but 
blistered,  in  the  road.  Some  gasolene  exploded  just  as 
the  volunteer  department  got  to  work,  which  shook 
their  nerves  as  well  as  the  burning  building.  The 
stable,  being  on  a  hill,  was  a  torch  to  attract  the 
population  from  every  direction.  Rumor  had  it  that 


WHILE  THE  STABLES  BURNED    203 

Sunnyside  was  burning,  and  it  was  amazing  how 
many  people  threw  something  over  their  night-clothes 
and  flew  to  the  conflagration.  I  take  it  Casanova  has 
few  fires,  and  Sunnyside  was  furnishing  the  people,  in 
one  way  and  another,  the  greatest  excitement  they 
had  had  for  years. 

The  stable  was  off  the  west  wing.  I  hardly  know 
how  I  came  to  think  of  the  circular  staircase  and  the 
unguarded  door  at  its  foot.  Liddy  was  putting  my 
clothes  into  sheets,  preparatory  to  tossing  them  out 
the  window,  when  I  found  her,  and  I  could  hardly 
persuade  her  to  stop. 

"I  want  you  to  come  with  me,  Liddy,"  I  said. 
"Bring  a  candle  and  a  couple  of  blankets." 

She  lagged  behind  considerably  when  she  saw  me 
making  for  the  east  wing,  and  at  the  top  of  the  stair- 
case she  balked. 

"I  am  not  going  down  there,"  she  said  firmly 

"There  is  no  one  guarding  the  door  down  there,"  I 
explained.  "Who  knows? — this  may  be  a  scheme  to 
draw  everybody  away  from  this  end  of  the  house,  and 
let  some  one  in  here." 

The  instant  I  had  said  it  I  was  convinced  I  had  hit 
on  the  explanation,  and  that  perhaps  it  was  already 
too  late.  It  seemed  to  me  as  I  listened  that  I  heard 
stealthy  footsteps  on  the  east  porch,  but  there  was  so 
much  shouting  outside  that  it  was  impossible  to  tell. 
Liddy  was  on  the  point  of  retreat. 

"Very  well/'  I  said,  "then  I  shall  go  down  alone. 
Run  back  to  Mr.  Halsey's  room  and  get  his  revolver. 


204    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

Don't  shoot  down  the  stairs  if  you  hear  a  noise :  re- 
member— I  shall  be  down  there.  And  hurry." 

I  put  the  candle  on  the  floor  at  the  top  of  the  stair- 
case and  took  off  my  bedroom  slippers.  Then  I  crept 
down  the  stairs,  going  very  slowly,  and  listening  with 
all  my  ears.  I  was  keyed  to  such  a  pitch  that  I  felt  no 
fear :  like  the  condemned  who  sleep  and  eat  the  night 
before  execution,  I  was  no  longer  able  to  suffer  appre- 
hension. I  was  past  that.  Just  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  I  stubbed  my  toe  against  Halsey's  big  chair, 
and  had  to  stand  on  one  foot  in  a  soundless  agony 
until  the  pain  subsided  to  a  dull  ache.  And  then — I 
knew  I  was  right.  Some  one  had  put  a  key  into  the 
lock,  and  was  turning  it.  For  some  reason  it  refused 
to  work,  and  the  key  was  withdrawn.  There  was  a 
muttering  of  voices  outside :  I  had  only  a  second. 
Another  trial,  and  the  door  would  open.  The  candle 
above  made  a  faint  gleam  down  the  well-like  staircase, 
and  at  that  moment,  with  a  second,  no  more,  to  spare, 
I  thought  of  a  plan. 

The  heavy  oak  chair  almost  filled  the  space  between 
the  newel  post  and  the  door.  With  a  crash  I  had 
turned  it  on  its  side,  wedged  it  against  the  door,  its 
legs  against  the  stairs.  I  could  hear  a  faint  scream 
from  Liddy,  at  the  crash,  and  then  she  came  down  the 
stairs  on  a  run,  with  the  revolver  held  straight  out  in 
front  of  her. 

"Thank  God,"  she  said,  in  a  shaking  voice.  "I 
thought  it  was  you." 

I  pointed  to  the  door,  and  she  understood. 


WHILE  THE  STABLES  BURNED    205 

"Call  out  the  windows  at  the  other  end  of  the 
house,"  I  whispered.  "Run.  Tell  them  not  to  wait  for 
anything." 

She  went  up  the  stairs  at  that,  two  at  a  time.  Evi- 
dently she  collided  with  the  candle,  for  it  went  out, 
and  I  was  left  in  darkness. 

I  was  really  astonishingly  cool.  I  remember  step- 
ping over  the  chair  and  gluing  my  ear  to  the  door, 
and  I  shall  never  forget  feeling  it  give  an  inch  or  two 
there  in  the  darkness,  under  a  steady  pressure  from 
without.  But  the  chair  held,  although  I  could  hear  an 
ominous  cracking  of  one  of  the  legs.  And  then,  with- 
out the  slightest  warning,  the  card-room  window 
broke  with  a  crash.  I  had  my  finger  on  the  trigger 
of  the  revolver,  and  as  I  jumped  it  went  off,  right 
through  the  door.  Some  one  outside  swore  roundly, 
and  for  the  first  time  I  could  hear  what  was  said. 

"Only  a  scratch.  .  .  .  Men  are  at  the  other  end 
of  the  house.  .  .  .  Have  the  whole  rat's  nest  on  us." 
And  a  lot  of  profanity  which  I  won't  write  down.  The 
voices  were  at  the  broken  window  now,  and  although 
I  was  trembling  violently,  I  was  determined  that  I 
would  hold  them  until  help  came.  I  moved  up  the 
stairs  until  I  could  see  into  the  card-room,  or  rather 
through  it,  to  the  window.  As  I  looked  a  small  man 
put  his  leg  over  the  sill  and  stepped  into  the  room. 
The  curtain  confused  him  for  a  moment;  then  he 
turned,  not  toward  me,  but  toward  the  billiard-room 
door.  I  fired  again,  and  something  that  was  glass  or 
china  crashed  to  the  ground.  Then  I  ran  up  the  stairs 


206     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

and  along  the  corridor  to  the  main  staircase.  Gertrude 
was  standing  there,  trying  to  locate  the  shots,  and  I 
must  have  been  a  peculiar  figure,  with  my  hair  in 
crimps,  my  dressing-gown  flying,  no  slippers,  and  a 
revolver  clutched  in  my  hand.  I  had  no  time  to  talk. 
There  was  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  lower  hall, 
and  some  one  bounded  up  the  stairs. 

I  had  gone  Berserk,  I  think.  I  leaned  over  the 
stair-rail  and  fired  again.  Halsey,  below,  yelled  at  me. 

"What  are  you  doing  up  there?"  he  yelled.  "You 
missed  me  by  an  inch." 

And  then  I  collapsed  and  fainted.  When  I  came 
around  Liddy  was  rubbing  my  temples  with  eau  de 
quinine,  and  the  search  was  in  full  blast. 

Well,  the  man  was  gone.  The  stable  burned  to  the 
ground,  while  the  crowd  cheered  at  every  falling 
rafter,  and  the  volunteer  fire  department  sprayed  it 
with  a  garden  hose.  And  in  the  house  Alex  and  Hal- 
sey searched  every  corner  of  the  lower  floor,  finding 
no  one. 

The  truth  of  my  story  was  shown  by  the  broken 
window  and  the  overturned  chair.  That  the  unknown 
had  got  up-stairs  was  almost  impossible.  He  had  not 
used  the  main  staircase,  there  was  no  way  to  the 
upper  floor  in  the  east  wing,  and  Liddy  had  been  at 
the  window,  in  the  west  wing,  where  the  servants'  stair 
went  up.  But  we  did  not  go  to  bed  at  all.  Sam  Bo- 
hannon  and  Warner  helped  in  the  search,  and  not  a 
closet  escaped  scrutiny.  Even  the  cellars  were  given  a 
thorough  overhauling,  without  result.  The  door  in  the 


WHILE  THE  STABLES  BURNED     207 

east  entry  had  a  hole  through  it  where  my  bullet  had 
gone.  The  hole  slanted  downward,  and  the  bullet  was 
embedded  in  the  porch.  Some  reddish  stains  showed 
it  had  done  execution. 

"Somebody  will  walk  lame,"  Halsey  said,  when  he 
had  marked  the  course  of  the  bullet.  "It's  too  low 
to  have  hit  anything  but  a  leg  or  foot." 

From  that  time  on  I  watched  every  person  I  met 
for  a  limp,  and  to  this  day  the  man  who  halts  in  his 
walk  in  an  object  of  suspicion  to  me.  But  Casanova 
had  no  lame  men:  the  nearest  approach  to  it  was  an 
old  fellow  who  tended  the  safety  gates  at  the  railroad, 
and  he,  I  learned  on  inquiry,  had  two  artificial  legs. 
Our  man  had  gone,  and  the  large  and  expensive  stable 
at  Sunny  side  was  a  heap  of  smoking  rafters  and 
charred  boards,  Warner  swore  the  fire  was  incendi- 
ary, and  in  view  of  the  attempt  to  enter  the  house, 
there  seemed  to  be  no  doubt  of  it 

• 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

FLINDERS 

IF  Halsey  had  only  taken  me  fully  into  his  confi- 
dence, through  the  whole  affair,  it  would  have  been 
much  simpler.  If  he  had  been  altogether  frank  about 
Jack  Bailey,  and  if  the  day  after  the  fire  he  had  told 
me  what  he  suspected,  there  would  have  been  no  har- 
rowing period  for  all  of  us,  with  the  boy  in  danger. 
But  young  people  refuse  to  profit  by  the  experience  of 
their  elders,  and  sometimes  the  elders  are  the  ones 
to  suffer. 

I  was  much  used  up  the  day  after  the  fire,  and 
Gertrude  insisted  on  my  going  out.  The  machine  was 
temporarily  out  of  commission,  and  the  carriage 
horses  had  been  sent  to  a  farm  for  the  summer.  Ger- 
trude finally  got  a  trap  from  the  Casanova  livery- 
man, and  we  went  out.  Just  as  we  turned  from  the 
drive  into  the  road  we  passed  a  woman.  She  had  put 
down  a  small  valise,  and  stood  inspecting  the  house 
and  grounds  minutely.  I  should  hardly  have  noticed 
her,  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact  that  she  had  been 

. 

horribly  disfigured  by  smallpox. 

"Ugh!"  Gertrude  said,  when  we  had  passed,  "what 
a  face!  I  shall  dream  of  it  to-night.  Get  up, 
Flinders." 

"Flinders?"  I  asked.    "Is  that  the  horse's  name?" 


FLINDERS  209 


"It  is."  She  flicked  the  horse's  stubby  mane  with 
the  whip.  "He  didn't  look  like  a  livery  horse,  and  the 
liveryman  said  he  had  brought  him  from  the  Arm- 
strongs when  they  purchased  a  couple  of  motors  and 
cut  down  the  stable.  Nice  Flinders — good  old  boy!" 

Flinders  was  certainly  not  a  common  name  for  a 
horse,  and  yet  the  youngster  at  Richfield  had  named 
his  prancing,  curly-haired  little  horse  Flinders !  It 
set  me  to  thinking. 

At  my  request  Halsey  had  already  sent  word  of  the 
fire  to  the  agent  from  whom  we  had  secured  the  house. 
Also,  he  had  called  Mr.  Jamieson  by  telephone,  and 
somewhat  guardedly  had  told  him  of  the  previous 
night's  events.  Mr.  Jamieson  promised  to  come  out 
that  night,  and  to  bring  another  man  with  him.  I 
did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  notify  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, in  the  village.  No  doubt  she  knew  of  the  fire, 
and  in  view  of  my  refusal  to  give  up  the  house,  an 
interview  would  probably  have  been  unpleasant 
enough.  But  as  we  passed  Doctor  Walker's  white 
and  green  house  I  thought  of  something. 

"Stop  here,  Gertrude,"  I  said.  "I  am  going  to 
get  out." 

"To  see  Louise?"  she  asked. 

"No,  I  want  to  ask  this  young  Walker  something." 

She  was  curious,  I  knew,  but  I  did  not  wait  to  ex- 
plain. I  went  up  the  walk  to  the  house,  where  a  brass 
sign  at  the  side  announced  the  office,  and  went  in. 
The  reception-room  was  empty,  but  from  the  consult- 


210     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

ing-room  beyond  came  the  sound  of  two  voices,  not 
very  amicable. 

"It  is  an  outrageous  figure,"  some  one  was  storm- 
ing. Then  the  doctor's  quiet  tone,  evidently  not  argu- 
ing, merely  stating  something.  But  I  had  not  time 
to  listen  to  some  person  probably  disputing  his  bill,  so 
I  coughed.  The  voices  ceased  at  once:  a  door  closed 
somewhere,  and  the  doctor  entered  from  the  hall  of 
the  house.  He  looked  sufficiently  surprised  at  seeing 
me. 

"Good  afternoon,  Doctor,"  I  said  formally.  "I 
shall  not  keep  you  from  your  patient.  I  wish  merely 
to  ask  you  a  question." 

"Won't  you  sit  down?" 

"It  will  not  be  necessary.  Doctor,  has  any  one  come 
to  you,  either  early  this  morning  or  to-day,  to  havn 
you  treat  a  bullet  wound  ?" 

"Nothing  so  startling  has  happened  to  me,"  he  said. 
"A  bullet  wound!  Things  must  be  lively  at  Sunny- 
side." 

"I  didn't  say  it  was  at  Sunnyside.  But  as  it  hap- 
pens, it  was.  If  any  such  case  comes  to  you,  will  it 
be  too  much  trouble  for  you  to  let  me  know  ?" 

"I  shall  be  only  too  happy,"  he  said.  "I  under- 
stand you  have  had  a  fire  up  there,  too.  A  fire  and 
shooting  in  one  night  is  rather  lively  for  a  quiet  place 
like  that" 

"It  is  as  quiet  as  a  boiler-shop,"  I  replied,  as  I 
turned  to  go. 

"And  you  are  still  going  to  stay?" 


FLINDERS  211 


"Until  I  am  burned  out,"  I  responded.  And  then, 
on  my  way  down  the  steps,  I  turned  around  suddenly. 

"Doctor,"  I  asked  at  a  venture,  "have  you  ever 
heard  of  a  child  named  Lucien  Wallace?" 

Clever  as  he  was,  his  face  changed  and  stiffened. 
He  was  on  his  guard  again  in  a  moment. 

"Lucien  Wallace?"  he  repeated.  "No,  I  think  not. 
There  are  plenty  of  Wallaces  around,  but  I  don't  know 
any  Lucien." 

I  was  as  certain  as  possible  that  he  did.  People  do 
not  lie  readily  to  me,  and  this  man  lied  beyond  a  doubt. 
But  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  now ;  his  defenses 
were  up,  and  I  left,  half  irritated  and  wholly  baffled. 

Our  reception  was  entirely  different  at  Doctor 
Stewart's.  Taken  into  the  bosom  of  the  family  at 
once,  Flinders  tied  outside  and  nibbling  the  grass  at 
the  roadside,  Gertrude  and  I  drank  some  home-made 
elderberry  wine  and  told  briefly  of  the  fire.  Of  the 
more  serious  part  of  the  night's  experience,  of  course, 
we  said  nothing.  But  when  at  last  we  had  left  the 
family  on  the  porch  and  the  good  doctor  was  untying 
our  steed,  I  asked  him  the  same  question  I  had  put  to 
Doctor  Walker. 

"Shot!"  he  said.  "Bless  my  soul,  no.  Why,  what 
have  you  been  doing  up  at  the  big  house,  Miss 
Innes?" 

"Some  one  tried  to  enter  the  house  during  the  fire, 
and  was  shot  and  slightly  injured,"  I  said  hastily. 
"Please  don't  mention  it;  we  wish  to  make  as  little  of 
it  as  possible." 


212    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

There  was  one  other  possibility,  and  we  tried  that. 
At  Casanova  station  I  saw  the  station  master,  and 
asked  him  if  any  trains  left  Casanova  between  one 
o'clock  and  daylight.  There  was  none  until  six  A.  M. 
The  next  question  required  more  diplomacy. 

"Did  you  notice  on  the  six-o'clock  train  any  person 
— any  man — who  limped  a  little?"  I  asked.  "Please 
try  to  remember:  we  are  trying  to  trace  a  man  who 
was  seen  loitering  around  Sunnyside  last  night  before 
the  fire." 

He  was  all  attention  in  a  moment. 

"I  was  up  there  myself  at  the  fire,"  he  said  volubly. 
"I'm  a  member  of  the  volunteer  company.  First  big 
fire  we've  had  since  the  summer  house  burned  over  to 
the  club  golf  links.  My  wife  was  say  in'  the  other 
day,  'Dave,  you  might  as  well  'a'  saved  the  money  in 
that  there  helmet  and  shirt/  And  here  last  night  they 
came  in  handy.  Rang  that  bell  so  hard  I  hadn't  time 
scarcely  to  get  'em  on." 

"And — did  you  see  a  man  who  limped?"  Gertrude 
put  in,  as  he  stopped  for  breath. 

"Not  at  the  train,  ma'm,"  he  said.  "No  such  per- 
son got  on  here  to-day.  But  I'll  tell  you  where  I  did 
see  a  man  that  limped.  I  didn't  wait  till  the  fire  com- 
pany left;  there's  a  fast  freight  goes  through  at  four 
forty-five,  and  I  had  to  get  down  to  the  station.  I 
seen  there  wasn't  much  more  to  do  anyhow  at  the  fire 
— we'd  got  the  flames  under  control" — Gertrude 
looked  at  me  and  smiled — "so  I  started  down  the  hill. 
There  was  folks  here  and  there  goin'  home,  and  along 


FLINDERS  213 


by  the  path  to  the  Country  Club  I  seen  two  men.  One 
was  a  short  fellow.  He  was  sitting  on  a  big  rock,  his 
back  to  me,  and  he  had  something  white  in  his  hand, 
as  if  he  was  tying  up  his  foot.  After  I'd  gone  on  a 
piece  I  looked  back,  and  he  was  hobbling  on  and — 
excuse  me,  miss — he  was  swearing  something  sick- 
ening." 

"Did  they  go  toward  the  club?"  Gertrude  asked 
suddenly,  leaning  forward. 

"No,  miss.  I  think  they  came  into  the  village.  I 
didn't  get  a  look  at  their  faces,  but  I  know  every  chick 
and  child  in  the  place,  and  everybody  knows  me. 
When  they  didn't  shout  at  me — in  my  uniform,  you 
know — I  took  it  they  were  strangers." 

So  all  we  had  for  our  afternoon's  work  was  this: 
some  one  had  been  shot  by  the  bullet  that  went 
through  the  door;  he  had  not  left  the  village,  and  he 
had  not  called  in  a  physician.  Also,  Doctor  Walker 
knew  who  Lucien  Wallace  was,  and  his  very  denial 
made  me  confident  that,  in  that  one  direction  at  least, 
we  were  on  the  right  track. 

The  thought  that  the  detective  would  be  there  that 
night  was  the  most  cheering  thing  of  all,  and  I  think 
even  Gertrude  was  glad  of  it.  Driving  home  that 
afternoon,  I  saw  her  in  the  clear  sunlight  for  the  first 
time  in  several  days,  and  I  was  startled  to  see  how  ill 
she  looked.  She  was  thin  and  colorless,  and  all  her 
brigH  animation  was  gone. 

"Gertrude,"  I  said,  "I  have  been  a  very  selfish  old 
woman.  You  are  going  to  leave  this  miserable  house 


214     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

to-night.  Annie  Morton  is  going  to  Scotland  next 
week,  and  you  shall  go  right  with  her." 

To  my  surprise,  she  flushed  painfully. 

"I  don't  want  to  go,  Aunt  Ray,"  she  said.  "Don't 
make  me  leave  now." 

"You  are  losing  your  health  and  your  good  looks," 
I  said  decidedly.  "You  should  have  a  change." 

"I  shan't  stir  a  foot."  She  was  equally  decided. 
Then,  more  lightly:  "Why,  you  and  Liddy  need  me 
to  arbitrate  between  you  every  day  in  the  week." 

Perhaps  I  was  growing  suspicious  of  every  one, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  Gertrude's  gaiety  was  forced 
and  artificial.  I  watched  her  covertly  during  the  rest 
of  the  drive,  and  I  did  not  like  the  two  spots  of  crim- 
son in  her  pale  cheeks.  But  I  said  nothing  more  about 
sending  her  to  Scotland :  I  knew  she  would  not  go. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A   VISIT   FROM   LOUISE 

THAT  day  was  destined  to  be  an  eventful  one,  for 
when  I  entered  the  house  and  found  Eliza  ensconced 
in  the  upper  hall  on  a  chair,  with  Mary  Anne  doing 
her  best  to  stifle  her  with  household  ammonia,  and 
Liddy  rubbing  her  wrists — whatever  good  that  is  sup- 
posed to  do — I  knew  that  the  ghost  had  been  walking 
again,  and  this  time  in  daylight. 

Eliza  was  in  a  frenzy  of  fear.  She  clutched  at  my 
sleeves  when  I  went  close  to  her,  and  refused  to  let  go 
until  she  had  told  her  story.  Coming  just  after  the 
fire,  the  household  was  demoralized,  and  it  was  no 
surprise  to  me  to  find  Alex  and  the  under-gardener 
struggling  down-stairs  with  a  heavy  trunk  between 
them. 

"I  didn't  want  to  do  it,  Miss  Innes,"  Alex  said. 
"But  she  was  so  excited,  I  was  afraid  she  would  do  as 
she  said — drag  it  down  herself,  and  scratch  the  stair- 
case." 

I  was  trying  to  get  my  bonnet  off  and  to  keep  the 
maids  quiet  at  the  same  time.  "Now,  Eliza,  when  you 
have  washed  your  face  and  stopped  bawling,"  I  said, 
"come  into  my  sitting-room  and  tell  me  what  has 
happened." 

216 


216     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

Liddy  put  away  my  things  without  speaking.  The 
very  set  of  her  shoulders  expressed  disapproval. 

"Well,"  I  said,  when  the  silence  became  uncom- 
fortable, "things  seem  to  be  warming  up." 

Silence  from  Liddy,  and  a  long  sigh. 

"If  Eliza  goes,  I  don't  know  where  to  look  for  an- 
other cook."  More  silence. 

"Rosie  is  probably  a  good  cook."     Sniff. 

"Liddy,"  I  said  at  last,  "don't  dare  to  deny  that 
you  are  having  the  time  of  your  life.  You  positively 
gloat  in  this  excitement.  You  never  looked  better. 
It's  my  opinion  all  this  running  around,  and  getting 
jolted  out  of  a  rut,  has  stirred  up  that  torpid  liver 
of  yours." 

"It's  not  myself  I'm  thinking  about,"  she  said, 
goaded  into  speech.  "Maybe  my  liver  was  torpid,  and 
maybe  it  wasn't ;  but  I  know  this :  I've  got  some  feel- 
ings left,  and  to  see  you  standing  at  the  foot  of  that 
staircase  shootin'  through  the  door — I'll  never  be  the 
same  woman  again." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  of  that — anything  for  a  change," 
I  said.  And  in  came  Eliza,  flanked  by  Rosie  and  Mary 
Anne. 

Her  story,  broken  with  sobs  and  corrections  from 
the  other  two,  was  this:  At  two  o'clock  (two-fifteen, 
Rosie  insisted)  she  had  gone  up-stairs  to  get  a  picture 
from  her  room  to  show  Mary  Anne.  (A  picture  of  a 
lady,  Mary  Anne  interposed.)  She  went  up  the 
servants'  staircase  and  along  the  corridor  to  her  room, 
which  lay  between  the  trunk-room  and  the  unfinished 


A  VISIT  FROM  LOUISE          217 

ball-room.  She  heard  a  sound  as  she  went  down  the 
corridor,  like  some  one  moving  furniture,  but  she  was 
not  nervous.  She  thought  it  might  be  men  examining 
the  house  after  the  fire  the  night  before,  but  she 
looked  in  the  trunk-room  and  saw  nobody. 

She  went  into  her  room  quietly.  The  noise  had 
ceased,  and  everything  was  quiet.  Then  she  sat  down 
on  the  side  of  her  bed,  and,  feeling  faint — she  was 
subject  to  spells — ("I  told  you  that  when  I  came, 
didn't  I,  Rosie?"  "Yes'm,  indeed  she  did!") — she  put 
her  head  down  on  her  pillow  and — 

"Took  a  nap.    All  right !"  I  said.    "Go  on." 

"When  I  came  to,  Miss  Innes,  sure  as  I'm  sittin' 
here,  I  thought  I'd  die.  Somethin'  hit  me  on  the  face, 
and  I  set  up,  sudden.  And  then  I  seen  the  plaster 
drop,  droppin'  from  a  little  hole  in  the  wall.  And  the 
first  thing  I  knew,  an  iron  bar  that  long"  (fully  two 
yards  by  her  measure)  "shot  through  that  hole  and 
tumbled  on  the  bed.  If  I'd  been  still  sleeping" 
("Fainting,"  corrected  Rosie)  "I'd  'a'  been  hit  on  the 
head  and  killed!" 

"I  wisht  you'd  heard  her  scream,"  put  in  Mary 
Anne.  "And  her  face  as  white  as  a  pillow-slip  when 
she  tumbled  down  the  stairs." 

"No  doubt  there  is  some  natural  explanation  for  it, 
Eliza,"  I  said.  "You  may  have  dreamed  it,  in  your 
'fainting'  attack.  But  if  it  is  true,  the  metal  rod  and 
the  hole  in  the  wall  will  show  it." 

Eliza  looked  a  little  bit  sheepish. 

"The  hole's  there  all  right,  Miss  Innes,"  she  said. 


218     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"But  the  bar  was  gone  '.when  Mary  Anne  and  Rosie 
went  up  to  pack  my  trunk." 

"That  wasn't  all,"  Liddy's  voice  came  funereally 
from  a  corner.  "Eliza  said  that  from  the  hole  in  the 
wall  a  burning  eye  looked  down  at  her!" 

"The  wall  must  be  at  least  six  inches  thick,"  I  said 
with  asperity.  "Unless  the  person  who  drilled  the  hole 
carried  his  eyes  on  the  ends  of  a  stick,  Eliza  couldn't 
possibly  have  seen  them." 

But  the  fact  remained,  and  a  visit  to  Eliza's  room 
proved  it.  I  might  jeer  all  I  wished:  some  one  had 
drilled  a  hole  in  the  unfinished  wall  of  the  ball-room, 
passing  between  the  bricks  of  the  partition,  and 
shooting  through  the  unresisting  plaster  of  Eliza's 
room  with  such  force  as  to  send  the  rod  flying  on  to 
her  bed.  I  had  gone  up-stairs  alone,  and  I  confess  the 
thing  puzzled  me:  in  two  or  three  places  in  the  wall 
small  apertures  had  been  made,  none  of  them  of  any 
depth.  Not  the  least  mysterious  thing  was  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  iron  implement  that  had  been  used. 

I  remembered  a  story  I  read  once  about  an  impish 
dwarf  that  lived  in  the  spaces  between  the  double 
walls  of  an  ancient  castle.  I  wondered  vaguely  if  my 
original  idea  of  a  secret  entrance  to  a  hidden  chamber 
could  be  right,  after  all,  and  if  we  were  housing  some 
erratic  guest,  who  played  pranks  on  us  in  the  dark, 
and  destroyed  the  walls  that  he  might  listen,  hidden 
safely  away,  to  our  amazed  investigations. 

Mary  Anne  and  Eliza  left  that  afternoon,  but 
Rosie  decided  to  stay.  It  was  about  five  o'clock  when 


A  VISIT  FROM  LOUISE          219 

the  hack  came  from  the  station  to  get  them,  and,  to 
my  amazement,  it  had  an  occupant.  Matthew  Geist, 
the  driver,  asked  for  me,  and  explained  his  errand 
with  pride. 

"I've  brought  you  a  cook,  Miss  Innes,"  he  said. 
"When  the  message  came  to  come  up  for  two  girls 
and  their  trunks,  I  supposed  there  was  something 
doing,  and  as  this  here  woman  had  been  looking  for 
work  in  the  village,  I  thought  I'd  bring  her  along." 

Already  I  had  acquired  the  true  suburbanite  ability 
to  take  servants  on  faith;  I  no  longer  demanded  writ- 
ten and  unimpeachable  references.  I,  Rachel  Innes, 
have  learned  not  to  mind  if  the  cook  sits  down  com- 
fortably in  my  sitting-room  when  she  is  taking  the 
orders  for  the  day,  and  I  am  grateful  if  the  silver  is 
not  cleaned  with  scouring  soap.  And  so  that  day  I 
merely  told  Liddy  to  send  the  new  applicant  in.  When 
she  came,  however,  I  could  hardly  restrain  a  gasp  of 
surprise.  It  was  the  woman  with  the  pitted  face. 

She  stood  somewhat  awkwardly  just  inside  the  door, 
and  she  had  an  air  of  self-confidence  that  was  inspir- 
ing. Yes,  she  could  cook;  was  not  a  fancy  cook,  but 
could  make  good  soups  and  desserts  if  there  was  any 
one  to  take  charge  of  the  salads.  And  so,  in  the  end, 
I  took  her.  As  Halsey  said,  when  we  told  him,  it 
didn't  matter  much  about  the  cook's  face,  if  it  was 
clean. 

I  have  spoken  of  Halsey's  restlessness.  On  that 
day  it  seemed  to  be  more  than  ever  a  resistless  impulse 
that  kept  him  out  until  after  luncheon.  I  think  he 


220    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

hoped  constantly  that  he  might  meet  Louise  driving 
over  the  hills  in  her  runabout:  possibly  he  did  meet 
her  occasionally,  but  from  his  continued  gloom  I  felt 
sure  the  situation  between  them  was  unchanged. 

Part  of  the  afternoon  I  believe  he  read — Gertrude 
and  I  were  out,  as  I  have  said,  and  at  dinner  we  both 
noticed  that  something  had  occurred  to  distract  him. 
He  was  disagreeable,  which  is  unlike  him,  nervous, 
looking  at  his  watch  every  five  minutes,  and  he  ate 
almost  nothing.  He  asked  twice  during  the  meal  on 
what  train  Mr.  Jamieson  and  the  other  detective  were 
coming,  and  had  long  periods  of  abstraction  during 
which  he  dug  his  fork  into  my  damask  cloth  and  did 
not  hear  when  he  was  spoken  to.  He  refused  dessert, 
and  left  the  table  early,  excusing  himself  on  the 
ground  that  he  wanted  to  see  Alex. 

Alex,  however,  was  not  to  be  found.  It  was  after 
eight  when  Halsey  ordered  the  car,  and  started  down 
the  hill  at  a  pace  that,  even  for  him,  was  unusually 
reckless.  Shortly  after,  Alex  reported  that  he  was 
ready  to  go  over  the  house,  preparatory  to  closing  it 
for  the  night.  Sam  Bohannon  came  at  a  quarter  be- 
fore nine,  and  began  his  patrol  of  the  grounds,  and 
with  the  arrival  of  the  two  detectives  to  look  forward 
to,  I  was  not  especially  apprehensive. 

At  half -past  nine  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  horse 
driven  furiously  up  the  drive.  It  came  to  a  stop  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  immediately  after  there  were 
hurried  steps  on  the  veranda.  Our  nerves  were  not 
what  they  should  have  been,  and  Gertrude,  always 


A  VISIT  FROM  LOUISE         221 

apprehensive  lately,  was  at  the  door  almost  instantly. 
A  moment  later  Louise  had  burst  into  the  room  and 
stood  there  bareheaded  and  breathing  hard. 

"Where  is  Halsey  ?"  she  demanded.  Above  her  plain 
black  gown  her  eyes  looked  big  and  somber,  and  the 
rapid  drive  had  brought  no  color  to  her  face.  I  got 
up  and  drew  forward  a  chair. 

"He  has  not  come  back,"  I  said  quietly.  "Sit  down, 
child;  you  are  not  strong  enough  for  this  kind  of 
thing." 

I  don't  think  she  even  heard  me. 

"He  has  not  come  back?"  she  asked,  looking  from 
me  to  Gertrude.  "Do  you  know  where  he  went? 
Where  can  I  find  him?" 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Louise,"  Gertrude  burst  out, 
"tell  us  what  is  wrong.  Halsey  is  not  here.  He  has 
gone  to  the  station  for  Mr.  Jamieson.  What  has  hap- 
pened ?" 

"To  the  station,  Gertrude  ?    You  are  sure  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "Listen.  There  is  the  whistle  of  the 
train  now." 

She  relaxed  a  little  at  our  matter-of-fact  tone,  and 
allowed  herself  to  sink  into  a  chair. 

"Perhaps  I  was  wrong,"  she  said  heavily.  "He — 
will  be  here  in  a  few  moments  if — everything  is 
right." 

We  sat  there,  the  three  of  us,  without  attempt  at 
conversation.  Both  Gertrude  and  I  recognized  the 
futility  of  asking  Louise  any  questions :  her  reticence 
was  a  part  of  a  role  she  had  assumed.  Our  ears  were 


222     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

strained  for  the  first  throb  of  the  motor  as  it  turned 
into  the  drive  and  commenced  the  climb  to  the  house. 
Ten  minutes  passed,  fifteen,  twenty.  I  saw  Louise's 
hands  grow  rigid  as  they  clutched  the  arms  of  her 
chair.  I  watched  Gertrude's  bright  color  slowly  ebb- 
ing away,  and  around  my  own  heart  I  seemed  to  feel 
the  grasp  of  a  giant  hand. 

Twenty-five  minutes,  and  then  a  sound.  But  it  was 
not  the  chug  of  the  motor:  it  was  the  unmistakable 
"rumble  of  the  Casanova  hack.  Gertrude  drew  aside  the 
curtain  and  peered  into  the  darkness. 

"It's  the  hack,  I  am  sure,"  she  said,  evidently  re- 
lieved. "Something  has  gone  wrong  with  the  car, 
and  no  wonder — the  way  Halsey  went  down  the 
hill." 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  the  creaking  vehicle 
came  to  a  stop  at  the  door.  Louise  rose  and  stood 
watching,  her  hand  to  her  throat.  And  then  Gertrude 
opened  the  door,  admitting  Mr.  Jamieson  and  a 
stocky,  middle-aged  man.  Halsey  was  not  with  them. 
When  the  door  had  closed  and  Louise  realized  that 
Halsey  had  not  come,  her  expression  changed.  From 
tense  watchfulness  to  relief,  and  now  again  to  abso- 
lute despair,  her  face  was  an  open  page. 

"Halsey?"  I  asked  unceremoniously,  ignoring  the 
stranger.  "Did  he — not  meet  you?" 

"No."  Mr.  Jamieson  looked  slightly  surprised.  "I 
rather  expected  the  car,  but  we  got  up  all  right." 

"You  didn't  see  him  at  all?"  Louise  demanded 
breathlessly. 


A  VISIT  FROM  LOUISE          223 

Mr.  Jamieson  knew  her  at  once,  although  he  had 
not  seen  her  before.  She  had  kept  to  her  rooms  until 
the  morning  she  left. 

"No,  Miss  Armstrong,"  he  said.  "I  saw  nothing  of 
him.  What  is  wrong?" 

"Then  we  shall  have  to  find  him,"  she  asserted. 
"Every  instant  is  precious.  Mr.  Jamieson,  I  have 
reason  for  believing  that  he  is  in  danger,  but  I  don't 
know  what  it  is.  Only — he  must  be  found." 

The  stocky  man  had  said  nothing.  Now,  however, 
he  went  quickly  toward  the  door. 

"I'll  catch  the  hack  down  the  road  and  hold  it,"  he 
said.  "Is  the  gentleman  down  in  the  town?" 

"Mr.  Jamieson,"  Louise  said  impulsively,  "I  can 
use  the  hack.  Take  my  horse  and  trap  outside  and 
drive  like  mad.  Try  to  find  the  Dragon  Fly — it  ought 
to  be  easy  to  trace.  I  can  think  of  no  other  way. 
Only,  don't  lose  a  moment." 

The  new  detective  had  gone,  and  a  moment  later 
Jamieson  went  rapidly  down  the  drive,  the  cob's  feet 
striking  fire  at  every  step.  Louise  stood  looking  after 
them.  When  she  turned  around  she  faced  Gertrude, 
who  stood  indignant,  almost  tragic,  in  the  hall. 

"You  know  what  threatens  Halsey,  Louise,"  she 
said  accusingly.  "I  believe  you  know  this  whole  hor- 
rible thing,  this  mystery  that  we  are  struggling  with. 
If  anything  happens  to  Halsey,  I  shall  never  forgive 
you." 

Louise  only  raised  her  hands  despairingly  and 
dropped  them  again. 


224     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"He  is  as  dear  to  me  as  he  is  to  you,"  she  said  sadly. 
"I  tried  to  warn  him." 

"Nonsense !"  I  said,  as  briskly  as  I  could.  "We  are 
making  a  lot  of  trouble  out  of  something  perhaps 
very  small.  Halsey  was  probably  late — he  is  always 
late.  Any  moment  we  may  hear  the  car  coming  up 
the  road." 

But  it  did  not  come.  After  a  half-hour  of  suspense, 
Louise  went  out  quietly,  and  did  not  come  back.  I 
hardly  knew  she  was  gone  until  I  heard  the  station 
hack  moving  off.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  telephone 
rang.  It  was  Mr.  Jamieson. 

"I  have  found  the  Dragon  Fly,  Miss  Innes,"  he 
said.  "It  has  collided  with  a  freight  car  on  the  siding 
above  the  station.  No,  Mr.  Innes  was  not  there,  but 
we  shall  probably  find  him.  Send  Warner  for  the 
car." 

But  they  did  not  find  him.  At  four  o'clock  the  next 
morning  we  were  still  waiting  for  news,  while  Alex 
watched  the  house  and  Sam  the  grounds.  At  daylight 
I  dropped  into  exhausted  sleep.  Halsey  had  not  come 
back,  and  there  was  no  word  from  the  detective. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
HALSEY'S  DISAPPEARANCE 

NOTHING  that  had  gone  before  had  been  as  bad 
as  this.  The  murder  and  Thomas'  sudden  death 
we  had  been  able  to  view  in  a  detached  sort  of  way. 
But  with  Halsey's  disappearance  everything  was  al- 
tered. Our  little  circle,  intact  until- now,  was  broken. 
We  were  no  longer  onlookers  who  saw  a  battle  pass- 
ing around  them.  We  were  the  center  of  action.  Of 
course,  there  was  no  time  then  to  voice  such  an  idea. 
My  mind  seemed  able  to  hold  only  one  thought:  that 
Halsey  had  been  foully  dealt  with,  and  that  every 
minute  lost  might  be  fatal. 

Mr.  Jamieson  came  back  about  eight  o'clock  the  next 
morning :  he  was  covered  with  mud,  and  his  hat  was 
gone.  Altogether,  we  were  a  sad-looking  trio  that 
gathered  around  a  breakfast  that  no  one  could  eat. 
Over  a  cup  of  black  coffee  the  detective  told  us  what 
he  had  learned  of  Halsey's  movements  the  night  be- 
fore. Up  to  a  certain  point  the  car  had  made  it  easy 
enough  to  follow  him.  And  I  gathered  that  Mr. 
Burns,  the  other  detective,  had  followed  a  similar  car 
for  miles  at  dawn,  only  to  find  it  was  a  touring  car 
on  an  endurance  run. 

"He  left  here  about  ten  minutes  after  eight,"  Mr. 
Jamieson  said.  "He  went  alone,  and  at  eight  twenty 

225 


226     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

he  stopped  at  Doctor  Walker's.  I  went  to  the  doctor's 
about  midnight,  but  he  had  been  called  out  on  a  case, 
and  had  not  come  back  at  four  o'clock.  From  the 
doctor's  it  seems  Mr.  Innes  walked  across  the  lawn  to 
the  cottage  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  her  daughter  have 
taken.  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  retired,  and  he  said  per- 
haps a  dozen  words  to  Miss  Louise.  She  will  not  say 
what  they  were,  but  the  girl  evidently  suspects  what 
•has  occurred.  That  is,  she  suspects  foul  play,  but 
she  doesn't  know  of  what  nature.  Then,  apparently, 
he  started  directly  for  the  station.  He  was  going  very 
fast — the  flagman  at  the  Carol  Street  crossing  says 
he  saw  the  car  pass.  He  knew  the  siren.  Along  some- 
where in  the  dark  stretch  between  Carol  Street  and  the 
depot  he  evidently  swerved  suddenly — perhaps  some 
one  in  the  road — and  went  full  into  the  side  of  a 
freight.  We  found  it  there  last  night." 

"He  might  have  been  thrown  under  the  train  by 
the  force  of  the  shock,"  I  said  tremulously. 

Gertrude  shuddered. 

"We  examined  every  inch  of  track.  There  was — 
Ho  sign." 

"But  surely-^he  can't  be — gone!"  I  cried.  "Aren't 
there  traces  in  the  mud — anything?" 

"There  is  no  mud — only  dust.  There  has  been  no 
rain.  And  the  footpath  there  is  of  cinders.  Miss 
Innes,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  has  met  with  bad 
treatment,  in  the  light  of  what  has  gone  before.  I  do 
not  think  he  has  been  murdered."  I  shrank  from  the 


HALSEY'S  DISAPPEARANCE    227 

word.  "Burns  is  back  in  the  country,  on  a  clue  we  got 
from  the  night  clerk  at  the  drug-store.  There  will  be 
two  more  men  here  by  noon,  and  the  city  office  is  on 
the  lookout." 

"The  creek?"  Gertrude  asked. 

"The  creek  is  shallow  now.  If  it  were  swollen  with 
rain,  it  would  be  different.  There  is  hardly  any  water 
in  it  Now,  Miss  Innes,"  he  said,  turning  to  me,  "I 
must  ask  you  some  questions.  Had  Mr.  Halsey  any 
possible  reason  for  going  away  like  this,  without 
warning?" 

"None  whatever." 

"He  went  away  once  before,"  he  persisted.  "And 
you  were  as  sure  then." 

"He  did  not  leave  the  Dragon  Fly  jammed  into  the 
side  of  a  freight  car  before." 

"No,  but  he  left  it  for  repairs  in  a  blacksmith  shop, 
a  long  distance  from  here.  Do  you  know  if  he  had  any 
enemies?  Any  one  who  might  wish  him  out  of  the 
way?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of,  unless — no,  I  can  not  think 
of  any." 

"Was  he  in  the  habit  of  carrying  money?" 

"He  never  carried  it  far.  No,  he  never  had  more 
than  enough  for  current  expenses." 

Mr.  Jamieson  got  up  then  and  began  to  pace  the 
room.  It  was  an  unwonted  concession  to  the  occasion. 

"Then  I  think  we  get  at  it  by  elimination.  The 
chances  are  against  flight.  If  he  was  hurt,  we  find  no 


228     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

trace  of  him.  It  looks  almost  like  an  abduction.  This 
young  Doctor  Walker — have  you  any  idea  why  Mr. 
Innes  should  have  gone  there  last  night?" 

"I  can  not  understand  it,"  Gertrude  said  thought- 
fully. "I  don't  think  he  knew  Doctor  Walker  at  all, 
and — their  relations  could  hardly  have  been  cordial, 
under  the  circumstances." 

'Jamieson  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  little  by  little  he 
drew  from  us  the  unfortunate  story  of  Halsey's  love 
affair,  and  the  fact  that  Louise  was  going  to  marry 
Doctor  Walker. 

Mr.  Jamieson  listened  attentively. 

"There  are  some  interesting  developments  here," 
he  said  thoughtfully.  "The  woman  who  claims  to  be 
the  mother  of  Lucien  Wallace  has  not  come  back. 
Your  nephew  has  apparently  been  spirited  away. 
There  is  an  organized  attempt  being  made  to  enter 
this  house;  in  fact,  it  has  been  entered.  Witness  the 
incident  with  the  cook  yesterday.  And  I  have  a  new 
piece  of  information."  He  looked  carefully  away  from 
Gertrude.  "Mr.  John  Bailey  is  not  at  his  Knicker- 
bocker apartments,  and  I  don't  know  where  he  is.  It's 
a  hash,  that's  what  it  is.  It's  a  Chinese  puzzle.  They 
won't  fit  together,  unless — unless  Mr.  Bailey  and  your 
nephew  have  again — " 

And  once  again  Gertrude  surprised  me.  "They  are 
not  together,"  she  said  hotly.  "I — know  where  Mr. 
Bailey  is,  and  my  brother  is  not  with  him." 

The  detective  turned  and  looked  at  her  keenly. 

''Miss  Gertrude,"  he  said,  "if  you  and  Miss  Louise 


HALSEY'S  DISAPPEARANCE     229 

would  only  tell  me  everything  you  know  and  surmise 
about  this  business,  I  should  be  able  to  do  a  great 
many  things.  I  believe  I  could  find  your  brother,  and 
I  might  be  able  to — well,  to  do  some  other  things." 
But  Gertrude's  glance  did  not  falter. 

"Nothing  that  I  know  could  help  you  to  find  Hal- 
sey,"  she  said  stubbornly.  "I  know  absolutely  as  little 
of  his  disappearance  as  you  do,  and  I  can  only  say 
this :  I  do  not  trust  Doctor  Walker.  I  think  he  hated 
Halsey,  and  he  would  get  rid  of  him  if  he  could." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right.  In  fact,  I  had  some  such 
theory  myself.  But  Doctor  Walker  went  out  late  last 
night  to  a  serious  case  in  Summitville,  and  is  still 
there.  Burns  traced  him  there.  We  have  made 
guarded  inquiry  at  the  Greenwood  Club,  and  through 
the  village.  There  is  absolutely  nothing  to  go  on  but 
this.  On  the  embankment  above  the  railroad,  at  the 
point  where  we  found  the  machine,  is  a  small  house. 
An  old  woman  and  a  daughter,  who  is  very  lame,  live 
there.  They  say  that  they  distinctly  heard  the  shock 
when  the  Dragon  Fly  hit  the  car,  and  they  went  to  the 
bottom  of  their  garden  and  looked  over.  The  auto- 
mobile was  there ;  they  could  see  the  lights,  and  they 
thought  some  one  had  been  injured.  It  was  very  dark, 
but  they  could  make  out  two  figures,  standing-  to- 
gether. The  women  were  curious,  and,  leaving  the 
fence,  they  went  back  and  by  a  roundabout  path  down 
to  the  road.  When  they  got  there  the  car  was  still 
standing,  the  headlight  broken  and  the  bonnet 
crushed,  but  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen." 


230     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

The  detective  went  away  immediately,  and  to  Ger- 
trude and  me  was  left  the  woman's  part,  to  watch  and 
wait.  By  luncheon  nothing  had  been  found,  and  I  was 
frantic.  I  went  up-stairs  to  Halsey's  room  finally, 
from  sheer  inability  to  sit  across  from  Gertrude  any 
longer,  and  meet  her  terror-filled  eyes. 

Liddy  was  in  my  dressing-room,  suspiciously  red- 
eyed,  and  trying  to  put  a  right  sleeve  in  a  left  arm- 
hole  of  a  new  waist  for  me.  I  was  too  much  shaken 
to  scold. 

"What  name  did  that  woman  in  the  kitchen  give  ?" 
she  demanded,  viciously  ripping  out  the  offending 
sleeve. 

"Bliss.    Mattie  Bliss,"  I  replied. 

"Bliss.  M.  B.  Well,  that's  not  what  she  has  on  her 
suitcase.  It  is  marked  N.  F.  C." 

The  new  cook  and  her  initials  troubled  me  not  at 
all.  I  put  on  my  bonnet  and  sent  for  what  the  Casa- 
nova liveryman  called  a  "stylish  turnout."  Having 
once  made  up  my  mind  to  a  course  of  action,  I  am  not 
one  to  turn  back.  Warner  drove  me;  he  was  plainly 
disgusted,  and  he  steered  the  livery  horse  as  he  would 
the  Dragon  Fly,  feeling  uneasily  with  his  left  foot 
for  the  clutch,  and  working  his  right  elbow  at  an 
imaginary  horn  every  time  a  dog  got  in  the  way. 

Warner  had  something  on  his  mind,  and  after  we 
had  turned  into  the  road,  he  voiced  it. 

"Miss  Innes,"  he  said.  "I  overheard  a  part  of  a 
conversation  yesterday  that  I  didn't  understand.  It 
wasn't  my  business  to  understand  it,  for  that  matter. 


HALSEY'S  DISAPPEARANCE    231 

But  I've  been  thinking  all  day  that  I'd  better  tell  you. 
Yesterday  afternoon,  while  you  and  Miss  Gertrude 
were  out  driving,  I  had  got  the  car  in  some  sort  of 
shape  again  after  the  fire,  and  I  went  to  the  library 
to  call  Mr.  Innes  to  see  it.  I  went  into  the  living- 
room,  where  Miss  Liddy  said  he  was,  and  half-way 
across  to  the  library  I  heard  him  talking  to  some  one. 
He  seemed  to  be  walking  up  and  down  and  he  was  in 
a  rage,  I  can  tell  you." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"The  first  thing  I  heard  was — excuse  me,  Miss 
Innes,  but  it's  what  he  said,  'The  damned  rascal,'  he 
said,  Til  see  him  in' — well,  in  hell  was  what  he  said, 
'in  hell  first.'  Then  somebody  else  spoke  up ;  it  was  a 
woman.  She  said,  'I  warned  them,  but  they  thought 
I  would  be  afraid.'  " 

"A  woman !     Did  you  wait  to  see  who  it  was  ?" 

"I  wasn't  spying,  Miss  Innes,"  Warner  said  with 
dignity.  "But  the  next  thing  caught  my  attention. 
She  said,  'I  knew  there  was  something  wrong  from  the 
start.  A  man  isn't  well  one  day,  and  dead  the  next, 
without  some  reason.'  I  thought  she  was  speaking  of 
Thomas." 

"And  you  don't  know  who  it  was!"  I  exclaimed. 
"Warner,  you  had  the  key  to  this  whole  occurrence  in 
your  hands,  and  did  not  use  it!" 

However,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done.  I  resolved 
to  make  inquiry  when  I  got  home,  and  in  the  mean- 
time, my  present  errand  absorbed  me.  This  was 
nothing  less  than  to  see  Louise  Armstrong,  and  to 


232    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

attempt  to  drag  from  her  what  she  knew,  or  suspected, 
of  Halsey's  disappearance.  But  here,  as  in  every 
direction  I  turned,  I  was  baffled. 

A  neat  maid  answered  the  bell,  but  she  stood 
squarely  in  the  doorway,  and  it  was  impossible  to 
preserve  one's  dignity  and  pass  her. 

"Miss  Armstrong  is  very  ill,  and  unable  to  see  any 
one,"  she  said.     I  did  not  believe  her. 
'And  Mrs.  Armstrong — is  she  also  ill  ?" 
"She  is  with  Miss  Louise  and  can  not  be  disturbed." 
"Tell  her  it  is  Miss  Innes,  and  that  it  is  a  matter  of 
the  greatest  importance." 

"It  would  be  of  no  use,  Miss  Innes.  My  orders  are 
positive." 

At  that  moment  a  heavy  step  sounded  on  the  stairs. 
Past  the  maid's  white-strapped  shoulder  I  could  see  a 
familiar  thatch  of  gray  hair,  and  in  a  moment  I  was 
face  to  face  with  Doctor  Stewart.  He  was  very  grave, 
and  his  customary  geniality  was  tinged  with  restraint. 
"You  are  the  very  woman  I  want  to  see,"  he  said 
promptly.  "Send  away  your  trap,  and  let  me  drive 
you  home.  What  is  this  about  your  nephew?" 

"He  has  disappeared,  doctor.  Not  only  that,  but 
there  is  every  evidence  that  he  has  been  either  abducted, 
or — "  I  could  not  finish.  The  doctor  helped  me 
into  his  capacious  buggy  in  silence.  Until  we  had  got 
a  little  distance  he  did  not  speak;  then  he  turned  and 
looked  at  me. 

"Now  tell  me  about  it,"  he  said.  He  heard  me 
through  without  speaking. 


HALSEY'S  DISAPPEARANCE    233 

"And  you  think  Louise  knows  something?"  he  said 
when  I  had  finished.  "I  don't — in  fact,  I  am  sure  of 
it.  The  best  evidence  of  it  is  this :  she  asked  me  if  he 
had  been  heard  from,  or  if  anything  had  been  learned. 
She  won't  allow  Walker  in  the  room,  and  she  made  me 
promise  to  see  you  and  tell  you  this :  don't  give  up  the 
search  for  him.  Find  him,  and  find  him  soon.  He  is 
living." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "if  she  knows  that,  she  knows  more. 
She  is  a  very  cruel  and  ungrateful  girl." 

"She  is  a  very  sick  girl,"  he  said  gravely.  "Neither 
you  nor  I  can  judge  her  until  we  know  everything. 
But  she  and  her  mother  are  ghosts  of  their  former 
selves.  Under  all  this,  these  two  sudden  deaths,  this 
bank  robbery,  the  invasions  at  Sunnyside  and  Hal- 
sey's  diappearance,  there  is  some  mystery  that,  mark 
my  words,  will  come  out  some  day.  And  when  it  does, 
we  shall  find  Louise  Armstrong  a  victim." 

I  had  not  noticed  where  we  were  going,  but  now  I 
saw  we  were  beside  the  railroad,  and  from  a  knot  of 
men  standing  beside  the  track  I  divined  that  it  was 
here  the  car  had  been  found.  The  siding,  however, 
was  empty.  Except  a  few  bits  of  splintered  wood  on 
the  ground,  there  was  no  sign  of  the  accident. 

"Where  is  the  freight  car  that  was  rammed?"  the 
doctor  asked  a  bystander. 

"It  was  taken  away  at  daylight,  when  the  train  was 
moved." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  gained.  He  pointed  out 
the  house  on  the  embankment  where  the  old  lady  and 


234     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

her  daughter  had  heard  the  crash  and  seen  two  figures 
beside  the  car.  Then  we  drove  slowly  home.  I  had 
the  doctor  put  me  down  at  the  gate,  and  I  walked  to 
the  house — past  the  lodge  where  we  had  found  Louise, 
and,  later,  poor  Thomas;  up  the  drive  where  I  had 
seen  a  man  watching  the  lodge  and  where,  later,  Rosie 
had  been  frightened;  past  the  east  entrance,  where  so 
short  a  time  before  the  most  obstinate  effort  had  been 
made  to  enter  the  house,  and  where,  that  night  two 
weeks  ago,  Liddy  and  I  had  seen  the  strange  woman. 
Not  far  from  the  west  wing  lay  the  blackened  ruins  of 
the  stables.  I  felt  like  a  ruin  myself,  as  I  paused  on 
the  broad  veranda  before  I  entered  the  house. 

Two  private  detectives  had  arrived  in  my  absence, 
and  it  was  a  relief  to  turn  over  to  them  the  responsi- 
bility of  the  house  and  grounds.  Mr.  Jamieson,  they 
said,  had  arranged  for  more  to  assist  in  the  search  for 
the  missing  man,  and  at  that  time  the  country  was 
being  scoured  in  all  directions. 

The  household  staff  was  again  depleted  that  after- 
noon. Liddy  was  waiting  to  tell  me  that  the  new  cook 
had  gone,  bag  and  baggage,  without  waiting  to  be 
paid.  No  one  had  admitted  the  visitor  whom  Warner 
had  heard  in  the  library,  unless,  possibly,  the  missing 
cook.  Again  I  was  working  in  a  circle. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

WHO   IS   NINA   CARRINGTON? 

n^HE  four  days,  from  Saturday  to  the  following 
-••  Tuesday,  we  lived,  or  existed,  in  a  state  of  the 
most  dreadful  suspense.  We  ate  only  when  Liddy 
brought  in  a  tray,  and  then  very  little.  The  papers, 
of  course,  had  got  hold  of  the  story,  and  we  were  be- 
sieged by  newspaper  men.  From  all  over  the  country 
false  clues  came  pouring  in  and  raised  hopes  that  crum- 
bled again  to  nothing.  Every  morgue  within  a  hun- 
dred miles,  every  hospital,  had  been  visited,  without 
result. 

Mr.  Jamieson,  personally,  took  charge  of  the  or- 
ganized search,  and  every  evening,  no  matter  where 
he  happened  to  be,  he  called  us  by  long  distance  tele- 
phone. It  was  the  same  formula.  "Nothing  to-day. 
A  new  clue  to  work  on.  Better  luck  to-morrow."  And 
heartsick  we  would  put  up  the  receiver  and  sit  down 
again  to  our  vigil. 

The  inaction  was  deadly.  Liddy  cried  all  day,  and, 
because  she  knew  I  objected  to  tears,  sniffed  audibly 
around  the  corner. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  smile !"  I  snapped  at  her.  And 
her  ghastly  attempt  at  a  grin,  with  her  swollen  nose 
and  red  eyes,  made  me  hysterical.  I  laughed  and 
cried  together,  and  pretty  soon,  like  the  two  old  fools 

235 


236    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

we  were,  we  were  sitting  together  weeping  into  the 
same  handkerchief. 

Things  were  happening,  of  course,  all  the  time,  but 
they  made  little  or  no  impression.  The  Charity  Hos- 
pital called  up  Doctor  Stewart  and  reported  that  Mrs. 
Watson  was  in  a  critical  condition.  I  understood  also 
that  legal  steps  were  being  taken  to  terminate  my 
lease  at  Sunnyside.  Louise  was  out  of  danger,  but 
very  ill,  and  a  trained  nurse  guarded  her  like  a  gorgon. 
There  was  a  rumor  in  the  village,  brought  up  by 
Liddy  from  the  butcher's,  that  a  wedding  had  al- 
ready taken  place  between  Louise  and  Doctor  Walker, 
and  this  roused  me  for  the  first  time  to  action. 

On  Tuesday,  then,  I  sent  for  the  car,  and  prepared 
to  go  out.  As  I  waited  at  the  porte-cochere  I  saw 
the  under-gardener,  an  inoffensive,  grayish-haired 
man,  trimming  borders  near  the  house.  The  day  de- 
tective was  watching  him,  sitting  on  the  carriage 
block.  When  he  saw  me,  he  got  up. 

"Miss  Innes,"  he  said,  taking  off  his  hat,  "do  you 
know  where  Alex,  the  gardener,  is?" 

"Why,  no.     Isn't  he  here?"  I  asked. 

"He  has  been  gone  since  yesterday  afternoon. 
Have  you — employed  him  long?" 

"Only  a  couple  of  weeks." 

"Is  he  efficient?    A  capable  man?" 

"I  hardly  know,"  I  said  vaguely.  "The  place  looks 
all  right,  and  I  know  very  little  about  such  things.  I 
know  much  more  about  boxes  of  roses  than  bushes  of 
them." 


WHO  IS  NINA  CARRINGTON?     237 

"This  man,"  pointing  to  the  assistant,  "says  Alex 
isn't  a  gardener.  That  he  doesn't  know  anything 
about  plants." 

"That's  very  strange,"  I  said,  thinking  hard. 
"Why,  he  came  to  me  from  the  Brays,  who  are  in 
Europe." 

"Exactly."  The  detective  smiled.  "Every  man  who 
cuts  grass  isn't  a  gardener,  Miss  Innes,  and  just  now 
it  is  our  policy  to  believe  every  person  around  here 
a  rascal  until  he  proves  to  be  the  other  thing." 

Warner  came  up  with  the  car  then,  and  the  con- 
versation stopped.  As  he  helped  me  in,  however,  the 
detective  said  something  further. 

"Not  a  word  or  sign  to  Alex,  if  he  comes  back," 
he  said  cautiously. 

I  went  first  to  Doctor  Walker's.  I  was  tired  of  beat- 
ing about  the  bush,  and  I  felt  that  the  key  to  Halsey's 
disappearance  was  here  at  Casanova,  in  spite  of  Mr. 
Jamieson's  theories. 

The  doctor  was  in.  He  came  at  once  to  the  door  of 
his  consulting-room,  and  there  was  no  mask  of  cor- 
diality in  his  manner. 

"Please  come  in,"  he  said  curtly. 

"I  shall  stay  here,  I  think,  doctor."  I  did  not  like 
his  face  or  his  manner;  there  was  a  subtle  change  in 
both.  He  had  thrown  off  the  air  of  friendliness,  and 
I  thought,  too,  that  he  looked  anxious  and  haggard. 

"Doctor  Walker,"  I  said,  "I  have  come  to  you  to 
ask  some  questions.  I  hope  you  will  answer  them.  As 
you  know,  my  nephew  has  not  yet  been  found." 


238    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"So  I  understand,"  stiffly. 

"I  believe,  if  you  would,  you  could  help  us,  and  that 
leads  to  one  of  my  questions.  Will  you  tell  me  what 
was  the  nature  of  the  conversation  you  held  with  him 
the  night  he  was  attacked  and  carried  off?" 

"Attacked!  Carried  off!"  he  said,  with  pretended 
surprise.  "Really,  Miss  Innes,  don't  you  think  you 
exaggerate  ?  I  understand  it  is  not  the  first  time  Mr. 
Innes  has — disappeared." 

"You  are  quibbling,  doctor.  This  is  a  matter  of 
life  and  death.  Will  you  answer  my  question?" 

"Certainly.  He  said  his  nerves  were  bad,  and  I 
gave  him  a  prescription  for  them.  I  am  violating 
professional  ethics  when  I  tell  you  even  as  much  as 
that." 

I  could  not  tell  him  he  lied.  I  think  I  looked  it. 
But  I  hazarded  a  random  shot. 

"I  thought  perhaps,"  I  said,  watching  him  nar- 
rowly, "that  it  might  be  about — Nina  Carrington." 

For  a  moment  I  thought  he  was  going  to  strike  me. 
He  grew  livid,  and  a  small  crooked  blood-vessel  in  his 
temple  swelled  and  throbbed  curiously.  Then  he  forced 
a  short  laugh. 

"Who  is  Nina  Carrington?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  about  to  discover  that,"  I  replied,  and  he  was 
quiet  at  once.  It  was  not  difficult  to  divine  that  he 
feared  Nina  Carrington  a  good  deal  more  than  he  did 
the  devil.  Our  leave-taking  was  brief;  in  fact,  we 
merely  stared  at  each  other  over  the  waiting-room 


WHO  IS  NINA  CARRINGTON?     239 

table,  with  its  litter  of  year-old  magazines.  Then  I 
turned  and  went  out. 

"To  Richfield,"  I  told  Warner,  and  on  the  way  I 
thought,  and  thought  hard. 

"Nina 'Carrington,  Nina  Carrington,"  the  roar  and 
rush  of  the  wheels  seemed  to  sing  the  words.  "Nina 
Carrington,  N.  C."  And  I  then  knew,  knew  as 
surely  as  if  I  had  seen  the  whole  thing.  There  had 
been  an  N.  C.  on  the  suit-case  belonging  to  the  woman 
with  the  pitted  face.  How  simple  it  all  seemed.  Mattie 
Bliss  had  been  Nina  Carrington.  It  was  she  Warner 
had  heard  in  the  library.  It  was  something  she  had 
told  Halsey  that  had  taken  him  frantically  to  Doctor 
Walker's  office,  and  from  there  perhaps  to  his  death. 
If  we  could  find  the  woman,  we  might  find  what  had 
become  of  Halsey. 

We  were  almost  at  Richfield  now,  so  I  kept  on.  My 
mind  was  not  on  my  errand  there  now.  It  was  back 
with  Halsey  on  that  memorable  night.  What  was  it  he 
had  said  to  Louise,  that  had  sent  her  up  to  Sunnyside, 
half  wild  with  fear  for  him?  I  made  up  my  mind,  as 
the  car  drew  up  before  the  Tate  cottage,  that  I  would 
see  Louise  if  I  had  to  break  into  the  house  at  night. 

Almost  exactly  the  same  scene  as  before  greeted  my 
eyes  at  the  cottage.  Mrs.  Tate,  the  baby-carriage  in 
the  path,  the  children  at  the  swing — all  were  the  same. 

She  came  forward  to  meet  me,  and  I  noticed  that 
some  of  the  anxious  lines  had  gone  out  of  her  face. 
She  looked  young,  almost  pretty. 


240    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come  back,"  she  said.  "I 
think  I  will  have  to  be  honest  and  give  you  back  your 
money." 

"Why?"  I  asked.    "Has  the  mother  come?" 

"No,  but  some  one  came  and  paid  the  boy's  board 
for  a  month.  She  talked  to  him  for  a  long  time,  but 
when  I  asked  him  afterward  he  didn't  know  her  name." 

"A  young  woman  ?" 

"Not  very  young.  About  forty,  I  suppose.  She 
was  small  and  fair-haired,  just  a  little  bit  gray,  and 
very  sad.  She  was  in  deep  mourning,  and,  I  think, 
when  she  came,  she  expected  to  go  at  once.  But  the 
child,  Lucien,  interested  her.  She  talked  to  him  for 
a  long  time,  and,  indeed,  she  looked  much  happier 
when  she  left." 

"You  are  sure  this  was  not  the  real  mother?" 

"O  mercy,  no !  Why,  she  didn't  know  which  of  the 
three  was  Lucien.  I  thought  perhaps  she  was  a  friend 
of  yours,  but,  of  course,  I  didn't  ask." 

"She  was  not — pock-marked  ?"  I  asked  at  a  venture. 

"No,  indeed.  A  skin  like  a  baby's.  But  perhaps 
you  will  know  the  initials.  She  gave  Lucien  a  hand- 
kerchief and  forgot  it.  It  was  very  fine,  black- 
bordered,  and  it  had  three  hand-worked  letters  in  the 
corner — F.  B.  A." 

"No,"  I  said  with  truth  enough,  "she  is  not  a  friend 
of  mine."  F.  B.  A.  was  Fanny  Armstrong,  without 
a  chance  of  doubt! 

With  another  warning  to  Mrs.  Tate  as  to  silence, 
we  started  back  to  Sunnyside.  So  Fanny  Armstrong 


WHO  IS  NINA  CARRINGTON?     241 

knew  of  Lucien  Wallace,  and  was  sufficiently  interested 
to  visit  him  and  pay  for  his  support.  Who  was  the 
child's  mother  and  where  was  she?  Who  was  Nina 
Carrington?  Did  either  of  them  know  where  Halsey 
was,  or  what  had  happened  to  him  ? 

On  the  way  home  we  passed  the  little  cemetery 
where  Thomas  had  been  laid  to  rest.  I  wondered  if 
Thomas  could  have  helped  us  to  find  Halsey,  had  he 
lived.  Farther  along  was  the  more  imposing  burial- 
ground,  where  Arnold  Armstrong  and  his  father  lay 
in  the  shadow  of  a  tall  granite  shaft.  Of  the  three,  I 
think  Thomas  was  the  only  one  sincerely  mourned. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A   TRAMP   AND  THE  TOOTHACHE 

THE  bitterness  toward  the  dead  president  of  the 
Traders'  Bank  seemed  to  grow  with  time.  Never 
popular,  his  memory  was  execrated  by  people  who  had 
lost  nothing,  but  who  were  filled  with  disgust  by  con- 
stantly hearing  new  stories  of  the  man's  grasping 
avarice.  The  Traders'  had  been  a  favorite  bank  for 
small  tradespeople,  -and  in  its  savings  department  it 
had  solicited  the  smallest  deposits.  People  who  had 
thought  to  be  self-supporting  to  the  last  found  them- 
selves confronting  the  poorhouse,  their  two  or  three 
hundred  dollar  savings  wiped  away.  All  bank  fail- 
ures have  this  element,  however,  and  the  directors 
were  trying  to  promise  twenty  per  cent,  on  deposits. 

But,  like  everything  else  those  days,  the  bank  fail- 
ure was  almost  forgotten  by  Gertrude  and  myself. 
We  did  not  mention  Jack  Bailey :  I  had  found  nothing 
to  change  my  impression  of  his  guilt,  and  Gertrude 
knew  how  I  felt.  As  for  the  murder  of  the  bank  presi- 
dent's son,  I  was  of  two  minds.  One  day  I  thought 
Gertrude  knew  or  at  least  suspected  that  Jack  had 
done  it;  the  next  I  feared  that  it  had  been  Gertrude 
herself,  that  night  alone  on  the  circular  staircase.  And 
then  the  mother  of  Lucien  Wallace  would  obtrude 
herself,  and  an  almost  equally  good  case  might  be 

242 


A  TRAMP  AND  THE  TOOTHACHE  248 

made  against  her.  There  were  times,  of  course,  when 
I  was  disposed  to  throw  all  those  suspicions  aside,  and 
fix  definitely  on  the  unknown,  whoever  that  might  be. 

I  had  my  greatest  disappointment  when  it  came  to- 
tracing  Nina  Carrington.  The  woman  had  gone  with- 
out leaving  a  trace.  Marked  as  she  was,  it  should  have 
been  easy  to  follow  her,  but  she  was  not  to  be  found. 
A'  description  to  one  of  the  detectives,  on  my  arrival 
at  home,  had  started  the  ball  rolling.  But  by  night 
she  had  not  been  found.  I  told  Gertrude,  then,  about 
the  telegram  to  Louise  when  she  had  been  ill  before; 
about  my  visit  to  Doctor  Walker,  and  my  suspicions 
that  Mattie  Bliss  and  Nina  Carrington  were  the  same. 
She  thought,  as  I  did,  that  there  was  little  doubt 
of  it. 

I  said  nothing  to  her,  however,  of  tke  detective's 
suspicions  about  Alex.  Little  things  that  I  had  not 
noticed  at  the  time  now  came  back  to  me.  I  had  an 
uncomfortable  feeling  that  perhaps  Alex  was  a  spy, 
and  that  by  taking  him  into  the  house  I  had  played 
into  the  enemy's  hand.  But  at  eight  o'clock  that  night 
Alex  himself  appeared,  and  with  him  a  strange  and 
repulsive  individual.  They  made  a  queer  pair,  for 
Alex  was  almost  as  disreputable  as  the  tramp,  and  he 
had  a  badly  swollen  eye. 

Gertrude  had  been  sitting  listlessly  waiting  for  the 
evening  message  from  Mr.  Jamieson,  but  when  the 
singular  pair  came  in,  as  they  did,  without  ceremony, 
she  jumped  up  and  stood  staring.  Winters,  the  de- 
tective who  watched  the  house  at  night,  followed  them, 


244    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

and  kept  his  eyes  sharply  on  Alex's  prisoner.  For 
that  was  the  situation  as  it  developed. 

He  was  a  tall  lanky  individual,  ragged  and  dirty, 
and  just  now  he  looked  both  terrified  and  embarrassed. 
Alex  was  too  much  engrossed  to  be  either,  and  to  this 
day  I  don't  think  I  ever  asked  him  why  he  went  off 
without  permission  the  day  before. 

"Miss  Innes,"  Alex  began  abruptly,  "this  man  can 
tell  us  something  very  important  about  the  disappear- 
ance of  Mr.  Innes.  I  found  him  trying  to  sell  this 
watch." 

He  took  a  watch  from  his  pocket  and  put  it  on  the 
table.  It  was  Halsey's  watch.  I  had  given  it  to  him 
on  his  twenty-first  birthday:  I  was  dumb  with  appre- 
hension. 

"He  says  he  had  a  pair  of  cuff-links  also,  but  he 
sold  them—" 

"Per  a  dollar'n  half,"  put  in  the  disreputable  indi- 
vidual hoarsely,  with  an  eye  on  the  detective. 

"He  is  not — dead  ?"  I  implored.  The  tramp  cleared 
his  throat. 

"No'm,"  he  said  huskily.  "He  was  used  up  pretty 
bad,  but  he  weren't  dead.  He  was  comin'  to  hisself 
when  I" — he  stopped  and  looked  at  the  detective.  "I 
didn't  steal  it,  Mr.  Winters,"  he  whined.  "I  found  it 
in  the  road,  honest  to  God,  I  did." 

Mr.  Winters  paid  no  attention  to  him.  He  was 
watching  Alex. 

"I'd  better  tell  what  he  told  me,"  Alex  broke  in. 
"It  will  be  quicker.  When  Jamieson — when  Mr. 


A  TRAMP  AND  THE  TOOTHACHE  245 

Jamieson  calls  up  we  can  start  him  right.  Mr.  Win- 
ters, I  found  this  man  trying  to  sell  that  watch  on 
Fifth  Street.  He  offered  it  to  me  for  three  dollars." 

"How  did  you  know  the  watch?"  Winters  snapped 
at  him. 

"I  had  seen  it  before,  many  times.  I  used  it  at 
night  when  I  was  watching  at  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
case." The  detective  was  satisfied.  "When  he  offered 
the  watch  to  me,  I  knew  it,  and  I  pretended  I  was 
going  to  buy  it.  We  went  into  an  alley  and  I  got 
the  watch."  The  tramp  shivered.  It  was  plain  how 
Alex  had  secured  the  watch.  "Then — I  got  the  story 
from  this  fellow.  He  claims  to  have  seen  the  whole 
affair.  He  says  he  was  in  an  empty  car — in  the  car 
the  automobile  struck." 

The  tramp  broke  in  here,  and  told  his  story,  with 
frequent  interpretations  by  Alex  and  Mr.  Winters. 
He  used  a  strange  medley,  in  which  familiar  words 
took  unfamiliar  meanings,  but  it  was  gradually  made 
clear  to  us. 

On  the  night  in  question  the  tramp  had  been 
"pounding  his  ear" — this  stuck  to  me  as  being 
graphic — in  an  empty  box-car  along  the  siding  at 
Casanova.  The  train  was  going  west,  and  due  to  leave 
at  dawn.  The  tramp  and  the  "brakey"  were  friendly, 
and  things  going  well.  About  ten  o'clock,  perhaps 
earlier,  a  terrific  crash  against  the  side  of  the  car 
roused  him.  He  tried  to  open  the  door,  but  could  not 
move  it.  He  got  out  of  the  other  side,  and  just  as  he 
did  so,  he  heard  some  one  groan. 


246     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

The  habits  of  a  lifetime  made  him  cautious.  He 
slipped  on  to  the  bumper  of  a  car  and  peered  through. 
An  automobile  had  struck  the  car,  and  stood  there  on 
two  wheels.  The  tail  lights  were  burning,  but  the 
headlights  were  out.  Two  men  were  stooping  over 
some  one  who  lay  on  the  ground.  Then  the  taller  of 
the  two  started  on  a  dog-trot  along  the  train  looking 
for  an  empty.  He  found  one  four  cars  away  and  ran 
back  again.  The  two  lifted  the  unconscious  man  into 
the  empty  box-car,  and,  getting  in  themselves,  stayed 
for  three  or  four  minutes.  When  they  came  out,  after 
closing  the  sliding  door,  they  cut  up  over  the  railroad 
embankment  toward  the  town.  One,  the  short  one, 
seemed  to  limp. 

The  tramp  was  wary.  He  waited  for  ten  minutes 
or  so.  Some  women  came  down  a  path  to  the  road  and 
inspected  the  automobile.  When  they  had  gone,  he 
crawled  into  the  box-car  and  closed  the  door  again. 
Then  he  lighted  a  match.  The  figure  of  a  man,  un- 
conscious, gagged,  and  with  his  hands  tied,  lay  far  at 
the  end.  The  tramp  lost  no  time;  he  went  through 
his  pockets,  found  a  little  money  and  the  cuff-links, 
and  took  them.  Then  he  loosened  the  gag — it  had 
been  cruelly  tight — and  went  his  way,  again  closing 
the  door  of  the  box-car.  Outside  on  the  road  he  found 
the  watch.  He  got  on  the  fast  freight  east,  some 
time  after,  and  rode  into  the  city.  He  had  sold  the 
cuff-links,  but  on  offering  the  watch  to  Alex  he  had 
been  "copped." 

The  story,  with  its  cold  recital  of  villainy,  was  done. 


A  TRAMP  AND  THE  TOOTHACHE  247 

I  hardly  knew  if  I  were  more  anxious,  or  less.  That 
it  was  Halsey,  there  could  be  no  doubt  How  badly 
he  was  hurt,  how  far  he  had  been  carried,  were  the 
questions  that  demanded  immediate  answer.  But  it 
was  the  first  real  information  we  had  had;  my  boy 
had  not  been  murdered  outright.  But  instead  of  vague 
terrors  there  was  now  the  real  fear  that  he  might  be 
lying  in  some  strange  hospital  receiving  the  casual  at- 
tention commonly  given  to  the  charity  cases.  Even 
this,  had  we  known  it,  would  have  been  paradise  to  the 
terrible  truth.  I  wake  yet  and  feel  myself  cold  and 
trembling  with  the  horror  of  Halsey' s  situation  for 
three  days  after  his  disappearance. 

Mr.  Winters  and  Alex  disposed  of  the  tramp  with 
a  warning.  It  was  evident  he  had  told  us  all  he  knew. 
We  had  occasion,  within  a  day  or  two,  to  be  doubly 
thankful  that  we  had  given  him  his  freedom.  When 
Mr.  Jamieson  telephoned  that  night  we  had  news  for 
him;  he  told  me  what  I  had  not  realized  before — that 
it  would  not  be  possible  to  find  Halsey  at  once,  even 
with  this  clue.  The  cars  by  this  time,  three  days, 
might  be  scattered  over  the  Union.  But  he  said  to 
keep  on  hoping,  that  it  was  the  best  news  we  had  had. 
And  in  the  meantime,  consumed  with  anxiety  as  we 
were,  things  were  happening  at  the  house  in  rapid 
succession. 

We  had  one  peaceful  day — then  Liddy  took  sick 
in  the  night.  I  went  in  when  I  heard  her  groaning, 
and  found  her  with  a  hot-water  bottle  to  her  face,  and 
her  right  cheek  swollen  until  it  was  glassy. 


248     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"Toothache?"  I  asked,  not  too  gently.  "You  de- 
serve it.  A  woman  of  your  age,  who  would  rather  go 
around  with  an  exposed  nerve  in  her  head  than  have 
the  tooth  pulled !  It  would  be  over  in  a  moment." 

"So  would  hanging,"  Liddy  protested,  from  behind 
the  hot-water  bottle. 

I  was  hunting  around  for  cotton  and  laudanum. 

"You  have  a  tooth  just  like  it  yourself,  Miss 
Rachel,"  she  whimpered.  "And  I'm  sure  Doctor 
Boyle's  been  trying  to  take  it  out  for  years." 

There  was  no  laudanum,  and  Liddy  made  a  terrible 
fuss  when  I  proposed  carbolic  acid,  just  because  I 
had  put  too  much  on  the  cotton  once  and  burned  her 
mouth.  I'm  sure  it  never  did  her  any  permanent 
harm ;  indeed,  the  doctor  said  afterward  that  living  on 
liquid  diet  had  been  a  splendid  rest  for  her  stomach. 
But  she  would  have  none  of  the  acid,  and  she  kept  me 
awake  groaning,  so  at  last  I  got  up  and  went  to  Ger- 
trude's door.  To  my  surprise,  it  was  locked. 

I  went  around  by  the  hall  and  into  her  bedroom  that 
way.  The  bed  was  turned  down,  and  her  dressing- 
gown  and  night-dress  lay  ready  in  the  little  room  next, 
but  Gertrude  was  not  there.  She  had  not  undressed. 

I  don't  know  what  terrible  thoughts  came  to  me  in 
the  minute  I  stood  there.  Through  the  door  I  could 
hear  Liddy  grumbling,  with  a  squeal  now  and  then 
when  the  pain  stabbed  harder.  Then,  automatically,  I 
got  the  laudanum  and  went  back  to  her. 

It  was  fully  a  half-hour  before  Liddy's  groans  sub- 
sided. At  intervals  I  went  to  the  door  into  the  hall 


A  TRAMP  AND  THE  TOOTHACHE  249 

and  looked  out,  but  I  saw  and  heard  nothing  suspi- 
cious. Finally,  when  Liddy  had  dropped  into  a  doze, 
I  even  ventured  as  far  as  the  head  of  the  circular 
staircase,  but  there  floated  up  to  me  only  the  even 
breathing  of  Winters,  the  night  detective,  sleeping 
just  inside  the  entry.  And  then,  far  off,  I  heard  the 
rapping  noise  that  had  lured  Louise  down  the  stair- 
case that  other  night,  two  weeks  before.  It  was  over 
my  head,  and  very  faint — three  or  four  short  muffled 
taps,  a  pause,  and  then  again,  stealthily  repeated. 

The  sound  of  Mr.  Winters'  breathing  was  com- 
forting; with  the  thought  that  there  was  help  within 
call,  something  kept  me  from  waking  him.  I  did  not 
move  for  a  moment ;  ridiculous  things  Liddy  had  said 
about  a  ghost — I  am  not  at  all  superstitious,  except, 
perhaps,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  with  everything 
dark — things  like  that  came  back  to  me.  Almost  be- 
side me  was  the  clothes  chute.  I  could  feel  it,  but  I 
could  see  nothing.  As  I  stood,  listening  intently,  I 
heard  a  sound  near  me.  It  was  vague,  indefinite.  Then 
it  ceased ;  there  was  an  uneasy  movement  and  a  grunt 
from  the  foot  of  the  circular  staircase,  and  silence 
again.  I  stood  perfectly  still,  hardly  daring  to 
breathe. 

Then  I  knew  I  had  been  right.  Some  one  was 
stealthily  passing  the  head  of  the  staircase  and  com- 
ing toward  me  in  the  dark.  I  leaned  against  the  wall 
for  support — my  knees  were  giving  way.  The  steps 
were  close  now,  and  suddenly  I  thought  of  Gertrude. 
Of  course  it  was  Gertrude.  I  put  out  one  hand  in 


250    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

front  of  me,  but  I  touched  nothing.  My  voice  almost 
refused  me,  but  I  managed  to  gasp  out,  "Gertrude!" 

"Good  Lord !"  a  man's  voice  exclaimed,  just  beside 
me.  And  then  I  collapsed.  I  felt  myself  going,  felt 
some  one  catch  me,  a  horrible  nausea — that  was  all  I 
remembered. 

When  I  came  to  it  was  dawn.  I  was  lying  on  the 
bed  in  Louise's  room,  with  a  cherub  on  the  ceiling 
staring  down  at  me,  and  there  was  a  blanket  from  my 
own  bed  thrown  over  me.  I  felt  weak  and  dizzy,  but  I 
managed  to  get  up  and  totter  to  the  door.  At  the  foot 
of  the  circular  staircase  Mr.  Winters  was  still  asleep. 
Hardly  able  to  stand,  I  crept  back  to  my  room.  The 
door  into  Gertrude's  room  was  no  longer  locked :  she 
was  sleeping  like  a  tired  child.  And  in  my  dressing- 
room  Liddy  hugged  a  cold  hot-water  bottle,  and  mum- 
bled in  her  sleep. 

"There's  some  things  you  can't  hold  with  hand- 
cuffs," she  was  muttering  thickly. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A   SCRAP   OF   PAPER 

FOR  the  first  time  in  twenty  years,  I  kept  my  bed 
that  day.  Liddy  was  alarmed  to  the  point  of 
hysteria,  and  sent  for  Doctor  Stewart  just  after  break- 
fast. Gertrude  spent  the  morning  with  me,  reading 
something — I  forget  what.  I  was  too  busy  with  my 
thoughts  to  listen.  I  had  said  nothing  to  the  two  de- 
tectives. If  Mr.  Jamieson  had  been  there,  I  should 
have  told  him  everything,  but  I  could  not  go  to  these 
strange  men  and  tell  them  my  niece  had  been  missing 
in  the  middle  of  the  night;  that  she  had  not  gone 
to  bed  at  all ;  that  while  I  was  searching  for  her  through 
the  house,  I  had  met  a  stranger  who,  when  I  fainted, 
had  carried  me  into  a  room  and  left  me  there,  to  get 
better  or  not,  as  it  might  happen. 

The  whole  situation  was  terrible :  had  the  issues  been 
less  vital,  it  would  have  been  absurd.  Here  we  were, 
guarded  day  and  night  by  private  detectives,  with  an 
extra  man  to  watch  the  grounds,  and  yet  we  might  as 
well  have  lived  in  a  Japanese  paper  house,  for  all  the 
protection  we  had. 

And  there  was  something  else:  the  man  I  had  met 
in  the  darkness  had  been  even  more  startled  than  I,  and 
about  his  voice,  when  he  muttered  his  muffled  exclama- 
tion, there  was  something  vaguely  familiar.  All  that 

251 


252     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

morning,  while  Gertrude  read  aloud,  and  Liddy 
watched  for  the  doctor,  I  was  puzzling  over  that  voice, 
without  result. 

And  there  were  other  things,  too.  I  wondered  what 
Gertrude's  absence  from  her  room  had  to  do  with  it 
all,  or  if  it  had  any  connection.  I  tried  to  think  that 
she  had  heard  the  rapping  noises  before  I  did  and 
gone  to  investigate,  but  I'm  afraid  I  was  a  moral  cow- 
ard that  day.  I  could  not  ask  her. 

Perhaps  the  diversion  was  good  for  me.  It  took  my 
mind  from  Halsey,  and  the  story  we  had  heard  the 
night  before.  The  day,  however,  was  a  long  vigil, 
with  every  ring  of  the  telephone  full  of  possibilities. 
Doctor  Walker  came  up,  some  time  just  after  lunch- 
eon, and  asked  for  me. 

"Go  down  and  see  him,"  I  instructed  Gertrude. 
"Tell  him  I  am  out — for  mercy's  sake  don't  say  I'm 
sick.  Find  out  what  he  wants,  and  from  this  time  on, 
instruct  the  servants  that  he  is  not  to  be  admitted.  I 
loathe  that  man." 

Gertrude  came  back  very  soon,  her  face  rather 
flushed. 

"He  came  to  ask  us  to  get  out,"  she  said,  picking 
up  her  book  with  a  jerk.  "He  says  Louise  Armstrong 
wants  to  come  here,  now  that  she  is  recovering." 

"And  what  did  you  say?" 

"I  said  we  were  very  sorry  we  could  not  leave,  but 
we  would  be  delighted  to  have  Louise  come  up  here 
with  us.  He  looked  daggers  at  me.  And  he  wanted 
to  know  if  we  would  recommend  Eliza  as  a  cook.  He 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  253 

has  brought  a  patient,  a  man,  out  from  town,  and  is 
increasing  his  establishment — that's  the  way  he  put 
it." 

"I  wish  him  joy  of  Eliza,"  I  said  tartly.  "Did  he 
ask  for  Halsey?" 

"Yes.  I  told  him  that  we  were  on  the  track  last 
night,  and  that  it  was  only  a  question  of  time.  He  said 
he  was  glad,  although  he  didn't  appear  to  be,  but  he 
said  not  to  be  too  sanguine." 

"Do  you  know  what  I  believe?"  I  asked.  "I  be- 
lieve, as  firmly  as  I  believe  anything,  that  Doctor 
Walker  knows  something  about  Halsey,  and  that  he 
could  put  his  finger  on  him,  if  he  wanted  to." 

There  were  several  things  that  day  that  bewildered 
me.  About  three  o'clock  Mr.  Jamieson  telephoned 
from  the  Casanova  station  and  Warner  went  down  to 
meet  him.  I  got  up  and  dressed  hastily,  and  the  de- 
tective was  shown  up  to  my  sitting-room. 

"No  news?"  I  asked,  as  he  entered.  He  tried  to 
look  encouraging,  without  success.  I  noticed  that  he 
looked  tired  and  dusty,  and,  although  he  was  ordi- 
narily impeccable  in  his  appearance,  it  was  clear  that 
he  was  at  least  two  days  from  a  razor. 

"It  won't  be  long  now,  Miss  Innes,"  he  said.  "I 
have  come  out  here  on  a  peculiar  errand,  which  I  will 
tell  you  about  later.  First,  I  want  to  ask  some  ques- 
tions. Did  any  one  come  out  here  yesterday  to  repair 
the  telephone,  and  examine  the  wires  on  the  roof?" 

"Yes,"  I  said  promptly;  "but  it  was  not  the  tele- 
phone. He  said  the  wiring  might  have  caused  the  fire 


254     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

at  the  stable.  I  went  up  with  him  myself,  but  he  only 
looked  around." 

"Good  for  you!"  he  applauded.  "Don't  allow  any 
one  in  the  house  that  you  don't  trust,  and  don't  trust 
anybody.  All  are  not  electricians  who  wear  rubber 
gloves." 

He  refused  to  explain  further,  but  he  got  a  slip  of 
paper  out  of  his  pocketbook  and  opened  it  carefully. 

"Listen,"  he  said.  "You  heard  this  before  and 
scoffed.  In  the  light  of  recent  developments  I  want 
you  to  read  it  again.  You  are  a  clever  woman,  Miss 
Innes.  Just  as  surely  as  I  sit  here,  there  is  something 
in  this  house  that  is  wanted  very  anxiously  by  a  num- 
ber of  people.  The  lines  are  closing  up,  Miss  Innes." 

The  paper  was  the  one  he  had  found  among  Arnold 
Armstrong's  effects,  and  I  read  it  again : 


" by  altering  the  plans  for rooms,  may  be  possi- 
ble. The  best  way,  in  my  opinion,  would  be  to  the  plan 

for in  one  of  the rooms chimney." 

"I  think  I  understand,"  I  said  slowly.  "Some  one 
is  searching  for  the  secret  room,  and  the  invaders — " 

"And  the  holes  in  the  plaster — " 

"Have  been  in  the  progress  of  his — " 

"Or  her — investigations." 

"Her?"  I  asked. 

"Miss  Innes,"  the  detective  said,  getting  up,  "I  be- 
lieve that  somewhere  in  the  walls  of  this  house  is  hid- 
den some  of  the  money,  at  least,  from  the  Traders' 
Bank.  I  believe,  just  as  surely,  that  young  Walker 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  255 

brought  home  from  California  the  knowledge  of  some- 
thing of  the  sort  and,  failing  in  his  effort  to  reinstall 
Mrs.  Armstrong  and  her  daughter  here,  he,  or  a  con- 
federate, has  tried  to  break  into  the  house.  On  two 
occasions  I  think  he  succeeded." 

"On  three,  at  least,"  I  corrected.  And  then  I  told 
him  about  the  night  before.  "I  have  been  thinking 
hard,"  I  concluded,  "and  I  do  not  believe  the  man  at 
the  head  of  the  circular  staircase  was  Doctor  Walker. 
I  don't  think  he  could  have  got  in,  and  the  voice  was 
not  his." 

Mr.  Jamieson  got  up  and  paced  the  floor,  his  hands 
behind  him. 

"There  is  something  else  that  puzzles  me,"  he  said, 
stepping  before  me.  "Who  and  what  is  the  woman 
Nina  Carrington?  If  it  was  she  who  came  here  as 
Mattie  Bliss,  what  did  she  tell  Halsey  that  sent  him 
racing  to  Doctor  Walker's,  and  then  to  Miss  Arm- 
strong? If  we  could  find  that  woman  we  would  have 
the  whole  thing." 

"Mr.  Jamieson,  did  you  ever  think  that  Paul  Arm- 
strong might  not  have  died  a  natural  death?" 

"That  is  the  thing  we  are  going  to  try  to  find  out," 
he  replied.  And  then  Gertrude  came  in,  announcing 
a  man  below  to  see  Mr.  Jamieson. 

"I  want  you  present  at  this  interview,  Miss  Innes," 
he  said.  "May  Riggs  come  up?  He  has  left  Doctor 
Walker  and  he  has  something  he  wants  to  tell  us." 

Riggs  came  into  the  room  diffidently,  but  Mr. 
Jamieson  put  him  at  his  ease.  He  kept  a  careful  eye 


256     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

on  me,  however,  and  slid  into  a  chair  by  the  door 
when  he  was  asked  to  sit  down. 

"Now,  Riggs,"  began  Mr.  Jamieson  kindly.  "You 
are  to  say  what  you  have  to  say  before  this  lady." 

"You  promised  you'd  keep  it  quiet,  Mr.  Jamieson." 
Riggs  plainly  did  not  trust  me.  There  was  nothing 
friendly  in  the  glance  he  turned  on  me. 

"Yes,  yes.  You  will  be  protected.  But,  first  of  all, 
did  you  bring  what  you  promised?" 

Riggs  produced  a  roll  of  papers  from  under  his 
coat,  and  handed  them  over.  Mr.  Jamieson  examined 
them  with  lively  satisfaction,  and  passed  them  to  me. 
"The  blue-prints  of  Sunnyside,"  he  said.  "What  did 
I  tell  you?  Now,  Riggs,  we  are  ready." 

"I'd  never  have  come  to  you,  Mr.  Jamieson,"  he  be- 
gan, "if  it  hadn't  been  for  Miss  Armstrong.  When 
Mr.  Innes  was  spirited  away,  like,  and  Miss  Louise  got 
sick  because  of  it,  I  thought  things  had  gone  far 
enough.  I'd  done  some  things  for  the  doctor  before 
that  wouldn't  just  bear  looking  into,  but  I  turned  a 
bit  squeamish." 

"Did  you  help  with  that?"  I  asked,  leaning  forward. 

"No,  ma'am.  I  didn't  even  know  of  it  until  the  next 
day,  when  it  came  out  in  the  Casanova  Weekly  Ledger. 
But  I  know  who  did  it,  all  right.  I'd  better  start  at 
the  beginning. 

"When  Doctor  Walker  went  away  to  California 
with  the  Armstrong  family,  there  was  talk  in  the  town 
that  when  he  came  back  he  would  be  married  to  Miss 
Armstrong,  and  we  all  expected  it.  First  thing  I 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  257 

knew,  I  got  a  letter  from  him,  in  the  west.  He  seemed 
to  be  excited,  and  he  said  Miss  Armstrong  had  taken 
a  sudden  notion  to  go  home  and  he  sent  me  some 
money.  I  was  to  watch  for  her,  to  see  if  she  went  to 
Sunnyside,  and  wherever  she  was,  not  to  lose  sight  of 
her  until  he  got  home.  I  traced  her  to  the  lodge,  and 
I  guess  I  scared  you  on  the  drive  one  night,  Miss 
Innes." 

"And  Rosie!"  I  ejaculated. 

Riggs  grinned  sheepishly. 

"I  only  wanted  to  make  sure  Miss  Louise  was  there. 
Rosie  started  to  run,  and  I  tried  to  stop  her  and  tell 
her  some  sort  of  a  story  to  account  for  my  being  there. 
But  she  wouldn't  wait." 

"And  the  broken  china — in  the  basket?" 

"Well,  broken  china's  death  to  rubber  tires,"  he  said. 
"I  hadn't  any  complaint  against  you  people  here,  and 
the  Dragon  Fly  was  a  good  car." 

So  Rosie's  highwayman  was  explained. 

"Well,  I  telegraphed  the  doctor  where  Miss  Louise 
was  and  I  kept  an  eye  on  her.  Just  a  day  or  so  before 
they  came  home  with  the  body,  I  got  another  letter, 
telling  me  to  watch  for  a  woman  who  had  been  pitted 
with  smallpox.  Her  name  was  Carrington,  and  the 
doctor  made  things  pretty  strong.  If  I  found  any 
such  woman  loafing  around,  I  was  not  to  lose  sight  of 
her  for  a  minute  until  the  doctor  got  back. 

"Well,  I  would  have  had  my  hands  full,  but  the 
other  woman  didn't  show  up  for  a  good  while,  and 
when  she  did  the  doctor  was  home." 


258     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

"Riggs,"  I  asked  suddenly,  "did  you  get  into  this 
house  a  day  or  two  after  I  took  it,  at  night?" 

"I  did  not,  Miss  Innes.  I  have  never  been  in  the 
house  before.  Well,  the  Carrington  woman  didn't 
show  up  until  the  night  Mr.  Halsey  disappeared. 
She  came  to  the  office  late,  and  the  doctor  was  out. 
She  waited  around,  walking  the  floor  and  working  her- 
self into  a  passion.  When  the  doctor  didn't  come  back, 
she  was  in  an  awful  way.  She  wanted  me  to  hunt  him, 
and  when  he  didn't  appear,  she  called  him  names;  said 
he  couldn't  fool  her.  There  was  murder  being  done, 
and  she  would  see  him  swing  for  it. 

"She  struck  me  as  being  an  ugly  customer,  and 
when  she  left,  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  went  across 
to  the  Armstrong  place,  I  was  not  far  behind  her.  She 
walked  all  around  the  house  first,  looking  up  at  the 
windows.  Then  she  rang  the  bell,  and  the  minute  the 
door  was  opened  she  was  through  it,  and  into  the  hall." 

"How  long  did  she  stay  ?" 

"That's  the  queer  part  of  it,"  Riggs  said  eagerly. 
"She  didn't  come  out  that  night  at  all.  I  went  to  bed 
at  daylight,  and  that  was  the  last  I  heard  of  her  until 
the  next  day,  when  I  saw  her  on  a  truck  at  the  station, 
covered  with  a  sheet.  She'd  been  struck  by  the  ex- 
press and  you  would  hardly  have  known  her — dead, 
<of  course.  I  think  she  stayed  all  night  in  the  Arm- 
strong house,  and  the  agent  said  she  was  crossing  the 
jtrack  to  take  the  up-train  to  town  when  the  express 
istruck  her." 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  259 

"Another  circle!"  I  exclaimed.  "Then  we  are  just 
where  we  started." 

"Not  so  bad  as  that,  Miss  Innes,"  Riggs  said 
eagerly.  "Nina  Carrington  came  from  the  town  in 
California  where  Mr.  Armstrong  died.  Why  was  the 
doctor  so  afraid  of  her  ?  The  Carrington  woman  knew 
something.  I  lived  with  Doctor  Walker  seven  years, 
land  I  know  him  well.  There  are  few  things  he  is 
afraid  of.  I  think  he  killed  Mr.  Armstrong  out  in 
the  west  somewhere,  that's  what  I  think.  What  else 
he  did  I  don't  know — but  he  dismissed  me  and  pretty 
nearly  throttled  me — for  telling  Mr.  Jamieson  here 
about  Mr.  Innes'  having  been  at  his  office  the  night  he 
disappeared,  and  about  my  hearing  them  quarreling." 

"What  was  it  Warner  overheard  the  woman  say  to 
Mr.  Innes,  in  the  library  ?"  the  detective  asked  me. 

"She  said  'I  knew  there  was  something  wrong  from 
the  start.  A  man  isn't  well  one  day  and  dead  the  next 
without  some  reason.'  " 

How  perfectly  it  all  seemed  to  fit! 


CHAPTER  XXX 

WHEN    CHURCHYARDS   YAWN 

TT  was  on  Wednesday  Riggs  told  us  the  story  of  his 
A  connection  with  some  incidents  that  had  been  pre- 
viously unexplained.  Halsey  had  been  gone  since  the 
Friday  night  before,  and  with  the  passage  of  each  day 
I  felt  that  his  chances  were  lessening.  I  knew  well 
enough  that  he  might  be  carried  thousands  of  miles 
in  the  box-car,  locked  in,  perhaps,  without  water  or 
food.  I  had  read  of  cases  where  bodies  had  been 
found  locked  in  cars  on  isolated  sidings  in  the  west, 
iand  my  spirits  went  down  with  every  hour. 

His  recovery  was  destined  to  be  almost  as  sudden  as 
his  disappearance,  and  was  due  directly  to  the  tramp 
Alex  had  brought  to  Sunnyside.  It  seems  the  man  was 
grateful  for  his  release,  and  when  he  learned  some- 
thing of  Halsey's  whereabouts  from  another  member 
of  his  fraternity — for  it  is  a  fraternity — he  was 
prompt  in  letting  us  know. 

On  Wednesday  evening  Mr.  Jamieson,  who  had  been 
down  at  the  Armstrong  house  trying  to  see  Louise — 
and  failing — was  met  near  the  gate  at  Sunnyside  by 
an  individual  precisely  as  repulsive  and  unkempt  as 
the  one  Alex  had  captured.  The  man  knew  the  de- 
tective, and  he  gave  him  a  piece  of  dirty  paper,  on 
which  was  scrawled  the  words — "He's  at  City  Hos- 

260 


WHEN  CHURCHYARDS  YAWN    261 

pital,  Johnsville."  The  tramp  who  brought  the  paper 
pretended  to  know  nothing,'  except  this :  the  paper  had 
been  passed  along  from  a  "hobo"  in  Johnsville,  who 
seemed  to  know  the  information  would  be  valuable 
to  us. 

Again  the  long  distance  telephone  came  into  requi- 
sition. Mr.  Jamieson  called  the  hospital,  while  we 
crowded  around  him.  And  when  there  was  no  longer 
any  doubt  that  it  was  Halsey,  and  that  he  would  prob- 
ably recover,  we  all  laughed  and  cried  together.  I  am 
sure  I  kissed  Liddy,  and  I  have  had  terrible  moments 
since  when  I  seem  to  remember  kissing  Mr.  Jamiesorv 
too,  in  the  excitement. 

Anyhow,  by  eleven  o'clock  that  night  Gertrude  was 
on  her  way  to  Johnsville,  three  hundred  and  eighty 
miles  away,  accompanied  by  Rosie.  The  domestic 
force  was  now  down  to  Mary  Anne  and  Liddy,  with 
the  under-gardener's  wife  coming  every  day  to  help 
out.  Fortunately,  Warner  and  the  detectives  were 
keeping  bachelor  hall  in  the  lodge.  Out  of  deference 
to  Liddy  they  washed  their  dishes  once  a  day,  and  they 
concocted  queer  messes,  according  to  their  several  abili- 
ties. They  had  one  triumph  that  they  ate  regularly 
for  breakfast,  and  that  clung  to  their  clothes  and  their 
hair  the  rest  of  the  day.  It  was  bacon,  hardtack  and 
onions,  fried  together.  They  were  almost  pathetically 
grateful,  however,  I  noticed,  for  an  occasional  broiled 
tenderloin. 

It  was  not  until  Gertrude  and  Rosie  had  gone  and 
Sunnyside  had  settled  down  for  the  night,  with 


262     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

ters  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  that  Mr.  Jamieson 
broached  a  subject  he  had  evidently  planned  before 
he  came. 

"Miss  Innes,"  he  said,  stopping  me  as  I  was  about 
to  go  to  my  room  up-stairs,  "how  are  your  nerves  to- 
night?" 

"I  have  none,"  I  said  happily.  "With  Halsey 
found,  my  troubles  have  gone." 

"I  mean,"  he  persisted,  "do  you  feel  as  though  you 
could  go  through  with  something  rather  unusual?" 

"The  most  unusual  thing  I  can  think  of  would  be  a 
peaceful  night.  But  if  anything  is  going  to  occur, 
don't  dare  to  let  me  miss  it." 

"Something  is  going  to  occur,"  he  said.  "And 
you're  the  only  woman  I  can  think  of  that  I  can  take 
along."  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "Don't  ask  me  any 
questions,  Miss  Innes.  Put  on  heavy  shoes,  and  some 
old  dark  clothes,  and  make  up  your  mind  not  to  be 
surprised  at  anything." 

Liddy  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just  when  I 
•went  up-stairs,  and  I  hunted  out  my  things  cautiously. 
The  detective  was  waiting  in  the  hall,  and  I  was  aston- 
ished to  see  Doctor  Stewart  with  him.  They  were  talk- 
ing confidentially  together,  but  when  I  came  down  they 
ceased.  There  were  a  few  preparations  to  be  made: 
the  locks  to  be  gone  over,  Winters  to  be  instructed  as 
to  renewed  vigilance,  and  then,  after  extinguishing 
the  hall  light,  we  crept,  in  the  darkness,  through  the 
front  door,  and  into  the  night. 

I  asked  no  questions.     I  felt  that  they  were  doing 


WHEN  CHURCHWARDS  YAWN    263 

me  honor  in  making  me  one  of  the  party,  and  I  would 
show  them  I  could  be  as  silent  as  they.  We  went 
across  the  fields,  passing  through  the  woods  that 
reached  almost  to  the  ruins  of  the  stable,  going  over 
stiles  now  and  then,  and  sometimes  stepping  over  low 
fences.  Once  only  somebody  spoke,  and  then  it  was 
an  emphatic  bit  of  profanity  from  Doctor  Stewart 
when  he  ran  into  a  wire  fence. 

We  were  joined  at  the  end  of  five  minutes  by  another 
man,  who  fell  into  step  with  the  doctor  silently.  He 
carried  something  over  his  shoulder  which  I  could  not 
make  out  In  this  way  we  walked  for  perhaps  twenty 
minutes.  I  had  lost  all  sense  of  direction:  I  merely 
stumbled  along  in  silence,  allowing  Mr.  Jamieson  to 
guide  me  this  way  or  that  as  the  path  demanded.  I 
hardly  know  what  I  expected.  Once,  when  through  a 
miscalculation  I  jumped  a  little  short  over  a  ditch  and 
landed  above  my  shoe-tops  in  the  water  and  ooze,  I 
remember  wondering  if  this  were  really  I,  and  if  I  had 
ever  tasted  life  until  that  summer.  I  walked  along' 
with  the  water  sloshing  in  my  boots,  and  I  was  actu- 
ally cheerful.  I  remember  whispering  to  Mr.  Jamieson 
that  I  had  never  seen  the  stars  so  lovely,  and  that  it 
was  a  mistake,  when  the  Lord  had  made  the  night  so 
beautiful,  to  sleep  through  it! 

The  doctor  was  puffing  somewhat  when  we  finally 
came  to  a  halt.  I  confess  that  just  at  that  minute  even 
Sunnyside  seemed  a  cheerful  spot.  We  had  paused  at 
the  edge  of  a  level  cleared  place,  bordered  all  around 
with  primly  trimmed  evergreen  trees.  Between  them 


264     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

I  caught  a  glimpse  of  starlight  shining  down  on  rows 
of  white  headstones  and  an  occasional  more  imposing 
monument,  or  towering  shaft.  In  spite  of  myself,  I 
drew  my  breath  in  sharply.  We  were  on  the  edge  of 
the  Casanova  churchyard. 

I  saw  now  both  the  man  who  had  joined  the  party 
and  the  implements  he  carried.  It  was  Alex,  armed 
;with  two  long-handled  spades.  After  the  first  shock 
of  surprise,  I  flatter  myself  I  was  both  cool  and  quiet. 
,We  went  in  single  file  between  the  rows  of  headstones, 
and  although,  when  I  found  myself  last,  I  had  an  in- 
stinctive desire  to  keep  looking  back  over  my  shoulder, 
I  found  that,  the  first  uneasiness  past,  a  cemetery  at 
night  is  much  the  same  as  any  other  country  place, 
filled  with  vague  shadows  and  unexpected  noises. 
Once,  indeed — but  Mr.  Jamieson  said  it  was  an  owl, 
and  I  tried  to  believe  him. 

In  the  shadow  of  the  Armstrong  granite  shaft  we 
Stopped.  I  think  the  doctor  wanted  to  send  me  back. 

"It's  no  place  for  a  woman,"  I  heard  him  protesting 
angrily.  But  the  detective  said  something  about  wit- 
nesses, and  the  doctor  only  came  over  and  felt  my 
pulse. 

"Anyhow,  I  don't  believe  you're  any  worse  off  here 
than  you  would  be  in  that  nightmare  of  a  house,"  he 
said  finally,  and  put  his  coat  on  the  steps  of  the  shaft 
[for  me  to  sit  on. 

There  is  an  air  of  finality  about  a  grave :  one 
watches  the  earth  thrown  in,  with  the  feeling  that  this 
is  the  end.  Whatever  has  gone  before,  whatever  is  to 


WHEN  CHURCHYARDS  YAWN    265 

come  in  eternity,  that  particular  temple  of  the  soul 
has  been  given  back  to  the  elements  from  which  it 
came.  Thus,  there  is  a  sense  of  desecration,  of  a  re- 
versal of  the  everlasting  fitness  of  things,  in  resurrect- 
ing a  body  from  its  mother  clay.  And  yet  that  night, 
in  the  Casanova  churchyard,  I  sat  quietly  by,  and 
watched  Alex  and  Mr.  Jamieson  steaming  over  their 
work,  without  a  single  qualm,  except  the  fear  *of 
detection. 

The  doctor  kept  a  keen  lookout,  but  no  one  ap- 
peared. Once  in  a  while  he  came  over  to  me,  and  gave 
me  a  reassuring  pat  on  the  shoulder. 

"I  never  expected  to  come  to  this,"  he  said  once. 
"There's  one  thing  sure — I'll  not  be  suspected  of 
complicity.  A  doctor  is  generally  supposed  to  be 
handier  at  burying  folks  than  at  digging  them  up." 

The  uncanny  moment  came  when  Alex  and  Jamie- 
son  tossed  the  spades  on  the  grass,  and  I  confess  I 
hid  my  face.  There  was  a  period  of  stress,  I  think, 
while  the  heavy  coffin  was  being  raised.  I  felt  that 
my  composure  was  going,  and,  for  fear  I  would  shriek, 
I  tried  to  think  of  something  else — what  time  Gertrude 
would  reach  Halsey — anything  but  the  grisly  reality 
that  lay  just  beyond  me  on  the  grass. 

And  then  I  heard  a  low  exclamation  from  the  de- 
tective and  I  felt  the  pressure  of  the  doctor's  fingers 
on  my  arm. 

"Now,  Miss  Innes,"  he  said  gently.  "If  you  will 
come  over — " 

I  held  on  to  him  frantically,  and  somehow  I  got 


266     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

there  and  looked  down.  The  lid  of  the  casket  had  been 
raised  and  a  silver  plate  on  it  proved  we  had  made  no 
mistake.  But  the  face  that  showed  in  the  light  of  the 
lantern  was  a  face  I  had  never  seen  before.  The  man 
who  lay  before  us  was  not  Paul  Armstrong ! 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

BETWEEN   TWO   FIREPLACES 

TT7HAT  with  the  excitement  of  the  discovery,  the 
*  *  walk  home  under  the  stars  in  wet  shoes  and 
draggled  skirts,  and  getting  up-stairs  and  undressed 
without  rousing  Liddy,  I  was  completely  used  up. 
What  to  do  with  my  boots  was  the  greatest  puzzle 
of  all,  there  being  no  place  in  the  house  safe  from 
Liddy,  until  I  decided  to  slip  up-stairs  the  next  morn- 
ing and  drop  them  into  the  hole  the  "ghost"  had  made 
in  the  trunk-room  wall. 

I  went  asleep  as  soon  as  I  reached  this  decision,  and 
in  my  dreams  I  lived  over  again  the  events  of  the 
night.  Again  I  saw  the  group  around  the  silent  figure 
on  the  grass,  and  again,  as  had  happened  at  the  grave, 
I  heard  Alex's  voice,  tense  and  triumphant  : 

"Then  we've  got  them,"  he  said.  Only,  in  my 
dreams,  he  said  it  over  and  over  until  he  seemed  to 
shriek  it  in  my  ears. 

I  wakened  early,  in  spite  of  my  fatigue,  and  lay 
there  thinking.  Who  was  Alex  ?  I  no  longer  believed 
that  he  was  a  gardener.  Who  was  the  man  whose  body 
we  had  resurrected?  And  where  was  Paul  Arm- 
strong ?  Probably  living  safely  in  some  extraditionless 
country  on  the  fortune  he  had  stolen.  Did  Louise  and 
her  mother  know  of  the  shameful  and  wicked  decep- 

267 


268     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

tion?  What  had  Thomas  known,  and  Mrs.  Watson? 
Who  was  Nina  Carrington? 

This  last  question,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  answered. 
In  some  way  the  woman  had  learned  of  the  substitu- 
tion, and  had  tried  to  use  her  knowledge  for  black- 
mail. Nina  Carrington's  own  story  died  with  her,  but, 
however  it  happened,  it  was  clear  that  she  had  carried 
her  knowledge  to  Halsey  the  afternoon  Gertrude  and 
I  were  looking  for  clues  to  the  man  I  had  shot  on  the 
east  veranda.  Halsey  had  been  half  crazed  by  what 
he  heard;  it  was  evident  that  Louise  was  marrying 
Doctor  Walker  to  keep  the  shameful  secret,  for  her 
mother's  sake.  Halsey,  always  reckless,  had  gone  at 
once  to  Doctor  Walker  and  denounced  him.  There 
had  been  a  scene,  and  he  left  on  his  way  to  the  station 
to  meet  and  notify  Mr.  Jamieson  of  what  he  had 
learned.  The  doctor  was  active  mentally  and  physi- 
cally. Accompanied  perhaps  by  Riggs,  who  had  shown 
himself  not  overscrupulous  until  he  quarreled  with  his 
employer,  he  had  gone  across  to  the  railroad  embank- 
ment, and,  by  jumping  in  front  of  the  car,  had  caused 
Halsey  to  swerve.  The  rest  of  the  story  we  knew. 

That  was  my  reconstructed  theory  of  that  afternoon 
and  evening :  it  was  almost  correct — not  quite. 

There  was  a  telegram  that  morning  from  Gertrude. 


"Halsey    conscious    and    improving.    Probably    home    in    day 
or  so.  GERTRUDE." 


JATith  Halsey  found  and  improving  in  health,  and 


BETWEEN  TWO  FIREPLACES     269 

with  at  last  something  to  work  on,  I  began  that  day, 
Thursday,  with  fresh  courage.  As  Mr.  Jamieson  had 
said,  the  lines  were  closing  up.  That  I  was  to  be 
caught  and  almost  finished  in  the  closing  was  happily 
unknown  to  us  all. 

It  was  late  when  I  got  up.  I  lay  in  my  bed,  looking 
around  the  four  walls  of  the  room,  and  trying  to  im- 
agine behind  what  one  of  them  a  secret  chamber  might 
lie.  Certainly,  in  daylight,  Sunnyside  deserved  its 
name :  never  was  a  house  more  cheery  and  open,  less 
sinister  in  general  appearance.  There  was  not  a  cor- 
ner apparently  that  was  not  open  and  above-board, 
and  yet,  somewhere  behind  its  handsomely  papered 
walls  I  believed  firmly  that  there  lay  a  hidden  room, 
with  all  the  possibilities  it  would  involve. 

I  made  a  mental  note  to  have  the  house  measured 
during  the  day,  to  discover  any  discrepancy  between 
the  outer  and  inner  walls,  and  I  tried  to  recall  again 
the  exact  wording  of  the  paper  Jamieson  had  found. 
The  slip  had  said  "chimney."  It  was  the  only  clue, 
and  a  house  as  large  as  Sunnyside  was  full  of  them. 
There  was  an  open  fireplace  in  my  dressing-room,  but 
none  in  the  bedroom,  and  as  I  lay  there,  looking 
around,  I  thought  of  something  that  made  me  sit 
up  suddenly.  The  trunk-room,  just  over  my  head,  had 
an  open  fireplace  and  a  brick  chimney,  and  yet,  there 
was  nothing  of  the  kind  in  my  room.  I  got  out  of  bed 
and  examined  the  opposite  wall  closely.  There  was 
apparently  no  flue,  and  I  knew  there  was  none  in  the 
hall  just  beneath.  The  house  was  heated  by  steam, 


270     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

as  I  have  said  before.  In  the  living-room  was  a  huge 
open  fireplace,  but  it  was  on  the  other  side. 

Why  did  the  trunk-room  have  both  a  radiator  and 
an  open  fireplace  ?  Architects  were  not  usually  erratic. 
It  was  not  fifteen  minutes  before  I  was  up-stairs, 
armed  with  a  tape-measure  in  lieu  of  a  foot-rule, 
eager  to  justify  Mr.  Jamieson's  opinion  of  my 
intelligence,  and  firmly  resolved  not  to  tell  him  of  my 
suspicion  until  I  had  more  than  theory  to  go  on.  The 
hole  in  the  trunk-room  wall  still  yawned  there,  be- 
tween the  chimney  and  the  outer  wall.  I  examined  it 
again,  with  no  new  result.  The  space  between  the 
brick  wall  and  the  plaster  and  lath  one,  however,  had 
a  new  significance.  The  hole  showed  only  one  side 
of  the  chimney,  and  I  determined  to  investigate  what 
lay  in  the  space  on  the  other  side  of  the  mantel. 

I  worked  feverishly.  Liddy  had  gone  to  the  village 
to  market,  it  being  her  firm  belief  that  the  store  people 
sent  short  measure  unless  she  watched  the  scales,  and 
that,  since  the  failure  of  the  Traders'  Bank,  we  must 
watch  the  corners;  and  I  knew  that  what  I  wanted  to 
do  must  be  done  before  she  came  back.  I  had  no  tools, 
but  after  rummaging  around  I  found  a  pair  of  garden 
scissors  and  a  hatchet,  and  thus  armed,  I  set  to  work. 
The  plaster  came  out  easily:  the  lathing  was  more 
obstinate.  It  gave  under  the  blows,  only  to  spring  back 
into  place  again,  and  necessity  for  caution  made  it 
doubly  hard. 

I  had  a  blister  on  my  palm  when  at  last  the  hatchet 
went  through  and  fell  with  what  sounded  like  the  re- 


BETWEEN  TWO  FIREPLACES    271 

port  of  a  gun  to  my  overstrained  nerves.  I  sat  on  a 
trunk,  waiting  to  hear  Liddy  fly  up  the  stairs,  with 
the  household  behind  her,  like  the  tail  of  a  comet.  But 
nothing  happened,  and  with  a  growing  feeling  of  un- 
canniness  I  set  to  work  enlarging  the  opening. 

The  result  was  absolutely  nil.  When  I  could  hold  a 
lighted  candle  in  the  opening,  I  saw  precisely  what 
I  had  seen  on  the  other  side  of  the  chimney — a  space 
between  the  true  wall  and  the  false  one,  possibly  seven 
feet  long  and  about  three  feet  wide.  It  was  in  no  sense 
of  the  word  a  secret  chamber,  and  it  was  evident  it 
had  not  been  disturbed  since  the  house  was  built.  It 
was  a  supreme  disappointment. 

It  had  been  Mr.  Jamieson's  idea  that  the  hidden 
room,  if  there  was  one,  would  be  found  somewhere 
near  the  circular  staircase.  In  fact,  I  knew  that  he 
had  once  investigated  the  entire  length  of  the  clothes 
chute,  hanging  to  a  rope,  with  this  in  view.  I  was 
reluctantly  about  to  concede  that  he  had  been  right, 
when  my  eyes  fell  on  the  mantel  and  fireplace.  The 
latter  had  evidently  never  been  used :  it  was  closed 
with  a  metal  fire  front,  and  only  when  the  front  re- 
fused to  move,  and  investigation  showed  that  it  was 
not  intended  to  be  moved,  did  my  spirits  revive. 

I  hurried  into  the  next  room.  Yes,  sure  enough, 
there  was  a  similar  mantel  and  fireplace  there,  simi- 
larly closed.  In  both  rooms  the  chimney  flue  extended 
well  out  from  the  wall.  I  measured  with  the  tape-line, 
my  hands  trembling  so  that  I  could  scarcely  hold  it. 
They  extended  two  feet  and  a  half  into  each  room, 


272    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

which,  with  the  three  feet  of  space  between  the  two 
partitions,  made  eight  feet  to  be  accounted  for.  Eight 
feet  in  one  direction  and  almost  seven  in  the  other — 
what  a  chimney  it  was! 

But  I  had  only  located  the  hidden  room.  I  was  not 
in  it,  and  no  amount  of  pressing  on  the  carving  of 
the  wooden  mantels,  no  search  of  the  floors  for  loose 
boards,  none  of  the  customary  methods  availed  at  alL 
That  there  was  a  means  of  entrance,  and  probably  a 
simple  one,  I  could  be  certain.  But  what?  What 
would  I  find  if  I  did  get  in?  Was  the  detective  right, 
and  were  the  bonds  and  money  from  the  Traders' 
Bank  there?  Or  was  our  whole  theory  wrong? 
Would  not  Paul  Armstrong  have  taken  his  booty  with 
him?  If  he  had  not,  and  if  Doctor  Walker  was  in 
the  secret,  he  would  have  known  how  to  enter  the 
chimney  room.  Then — who  had  dug  the  other  hole 
in  the  false  partition? 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

ANNE  WATSON'S  STORY 

LIDDY  discovered  the  fresh  break  in  the  trunk- 
room  wall  while  we  were  at  luncheon,  and  ran 
shrieking  down  the  stairs.  She  maintained  that,  as  she 
entered,  unseen  hands  had  been  digging  at  the  plaster; 
that  they  had  stopped  when  she  went  in,  and  she  had 
felt  a  gust  of  cold  damp  air.  In  support  of  her  story 
she  carried  in  my  wet  and  muddy  boots,  that  I  had 
unluckily  forgotten  to  hide,  and  held  them  out  to  the 
detective  and  myself. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  she  said  dramatically. 
"Look  at  'em.  They're  yours,  Miss  Rachel — and  cov- 
ered with  mud  and  soaked  to  the  tops.  I  tell  you,  you 
can  scoff  all  you  like;  something  has  been  wearing 
your  shoes.  As  sure  as  you  sit  there,  there's  the  smell 
of  the  graveyard  on  them.  How  do  we  know  they 
weren't  tramping  through  the  Casanova  churchyard 
last  night,  and  sitting  on  the  graves !" 

Mr.  Jamieson  almost  choked  to  death.  "I  wouldn't 
be  at  all  surprised  if  they  were  doing  that  very  thing, 
Liddy,"  he  said,  when  he  got  his  breath.  "They  cer- 
tainly look  like  it." 

I  think  the  detective  had  a  plan,  on  which  he  was 
working,  and  which  was  meant  to  be  a  coup.  But 
things  went  so  fast  there  was  no  time  to  carry  it  into 

273 


274     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

effect.  The  first  thing  that  occurred  was  a  message 
from  the  Charity  Hospital  that  Mrs.  Watson  was 
dying,  and  had  asked  for  me.  I  did  not  care  much 
about  going.  There  is  a  sort  of  melancholy  pleasure  to 
be  had  out  of  a  funeral,  with  its  pomp  and  ceremony, 
but  I  shrank  from  a  death-bed.  However,  Liddy  got 
out  the  black  things  and  the  crape  veil  I  keep  for 
such  occasions,  and  I  went.  I  left  Mr.  Jamieson  and 
the  day  detective  going  over  every  inch  of  the  circular 
staircase,  pounding,  probing  and  measuring.  I  was 
inwardly  elated  to  think  of  the  surprise  I  was  going 
to  give  them  that  night;  as  it  turned  out,  I  did  sur- 
prise them — almost  into  spasms. 

I  drove  from  the  train  to  the  Charity  Hospital, 
and  was  at  once  taken  to  a  ward.  There,  in  a  gray- 
walled  room  in  a  high  iron  bed,  lay  Mrs.  Watson. 
She  was  very  weak,  and  she  only  opened  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  me  when  I  sat  down  beside  her.  I  was  con- 
science-stricken. We  had  been  so  engrossed  that  I  had 
left  this  poor  creature  to  die  without  even  a  word  of 
sympathy. 

The  nurse  gave  her  a  stimulant,  and  in  a  little  while 
she  was  able  to  talk.  So  broken  and  half -coherent, 
however,  was  her  story  that  I  shall  tell  it  in  my  own 
way.  In  an  hour  from  the  time  I  entered  the  Charity 
Hospital,  I  had  heard  a  sad  and  pitiful  narrative,  and 
had  seen  a  woman  slip  into  the  unconsciousness  that  is 
only  a  step  from  death. 

Briefly,  then,  the  housekeeper's  story  was  this : 

She  was  almost  forty  years  old,  and  had  been  the 


ANNE  WATSON'S  STORY       275 

sister-mother  of  a  large  family  of  children.  One  by 
one  they  had  died,  and  been  buried  beside  their  par- 
ents in  a  little  town  in  the  Middle  West.  There  was 
only  one  sister  left,  the  baby,  Lucy.  On  her  the  older 
girl  had  lavished  all  the  love  of  an  impulsive  and 
emotional  nature.  When  Anne,  the  elder,  was  thirty- 
two  and  Lucy  was  nineteen,  a  young  man  had  come 
to  the  town.  He  was  going  east,  after  spending  the 
summer  at  a  celebrated  ranch  in  Wyoming — one  of 
those  places  where  wealthy  men  send  worthless  and 
dissipated  sons,  for  a  season  of  temperance,  fresh  air 
and  hunting.  The  sisters,  of  course,  knew  nothing 
of  this,  and  the  young  man's  ardor  rather  carried 
them  away.  In  a  word,  seven  years  before,  Lucy  Has- 
well  had  married  a  young  man  whose  name  was  given 
as  Aubrey  Wallace. 

Anne  Haswell  had  married  a  carpenter  in  her  native 
town,  and  was  a  widow.  For  three  months  everything 
went  fairly  well.  Aubrey  took  his  bride  to  Chicago, 
where  they  lived  at  a  hotel.  Perhaps  the  very  unso- 
phistication  that  had  charmed  him  in  Valley  Mill 
jarred  on  him  in  the  city.  He  had  been  far  from  a 
model  husband,  even  for  the  three  months,  and  when 
he  disappeared  Anne  was  almost  thankful.  It  was 
different  with  the  young  wife,  however.  She  drooped 
and  fretted,  and  on  the  birth  of  her  baby  boy,  she  had 
died.  Anne  took  the  child,  and  named  him  Lucien. 

Anne  had  had  no  children  of  her  own,  and  on 
Lucien  she  had  lavished  all  her  aborted  maternal  in- 
stinct. On  one  thing  she  was  determined,  however: 


276    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

that  was  that  Aubrey  Wallace  should  educate  his  boy. 
It  was  a  part  of  her  devotion  to  the  child  that  she 
should  be  ambitious  for  him:  he  must  have  every  op- 
portunity. And  so  she  came  east.  She  drifted  around, 
doing  plain  sewing  and  keeping  a  home  somewhere 
always  for  the  boy.  Finally,  however,  she  realized 
that  her  only  training  had  been  domestic,  and  she  put 
the  boy  in  an  Episcopalian  home,  and  secured  the  po- 
sition of  housekeeper  to  the  Armstrongs.  There  she 
found  Lucien's  father,  this  time  under  his  own  name. 
It  was  Arnold  Armstrong. 

I  gathered  that  there  was  no  particular  enmity  at 
that  time  in  Anne's  mind.  She  told  him  of  the  boy, 
and  threatened  exposure  if  he  did  not  provide  for  him. 
Indeed,  for  a  time,  he  did  so.  Then  he  realized  that 
Lucien  was  the  ruling  passion  in  this  lonely  woman's 
life.  He  found  out  where  the  child  was  hidden,  and 
threatened  to  take  him  away.  Anne  was  frantic.  The 
positions  became  reversed.  Where  Arnold  had  given 
money  for  Lucien's  support,  as  the  years  went  on  he 
forced  money  from  Anne  Watson  instead  until  she  was 
always  penniless.  The  lower  Arnold  sank  in  the  scale, 
the  heavier  his  demands  became.  With  the  rupture 
between  him  and  his  family,  things  were  worse.  Anne 
took  the  child  from  the  home  and  hid  him  in  a  farm- 
house near  Casanova,  on  the  Claysburg  road.  There 
she  went  sometimes  to  see  the  boy,  and  there  he  had 
taken  fever.  The  people  were  Germans,  and  he  called 
the  farmer's  wife  Grossmutter.  He  had  grown  into 
a  beautiful  boy,  and  he  was  all  Anne  had  to  live  for. 


ANNE  WATSON'S  STORY       277 

The  Armstrongs  left  for  California,  and  Arnold's 
persecutions  began  anew.  He  was  furious  over  the 
child's  disappearance  and  she  was  afraid  he  would  do 
her  some  hurt.  She  left  the  big  house  and  went  down 
to  the  lodge.  When  I  had  rented  Sunnyside,  however, 
she  had  thought  the  persecutions  would  stop.  She  had 
applied  for  the  position  of  housekeeper,  and  secured  it. 

That  had  been  on  Saturday.  That  night  Louise 
arrived  unexpectedly.  Thomas  sent  for  Mrs.  Watson 
and  then  went  for  Arnold  Armstrong  at  the  Green- 
wood Club.  Anne  had  been  fond  of  Louise — she 
reminded  her  of  Lucy.  She  did  not  know  what  the 
trouble  was,  but  Louise  had  been  in  a  state  of  terrible 
excitement.  Mrs.  Watson  tried  to  hide  from  Arnold, 
but  he  was  ugly.  He  left  the  lodge  and  went  up  to  the 
house  about  two-thirty,  was  admitted  at  the  east  en- 
trance and  came  out  again  very  soon.  Something  had 
occurred,  she  didn't  know  what;  but  very  soon  Mr. 
Innes  and  another  gentleman  left,  using  the  car. 

Thomas  and  she  had  got  Louise  quiet,  and  a  little 
before  three,  Mrs.  Watson  started  up  to  the  house. 
Thomas  had  a  key  to  the  east  entry,  and  gave  it  to  her. 

On  the  way  across  the  lawn  she  was  confronted  by 
Arnold,  who  for  some  reason  was  determined  to  get 
into  the  house.  He  had  a  golf-stick  in  his  hand,  that 
he  had  picked  up  somewhere,  and  on  her  refusal  he 
had  struck  her  with  it.  One  hand  had  been  badly  cut, 
and  it  was  that,  poisoning  having  set  in,  which  was 
killing  her.  She  broke  away  in  a  frenzy  of  rage  and 
fear,  and  got  into  the  house  while  Gertrude  and  Jack 


278     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

Bailey  were  at  the  front  door.  She  went  up-stairs, 
hardly  knowing  what  she  was  doing.  Gertrude's  door 
was  open,  and  Halsey's  revolver  lay  there  on  the  bed. 
She  picked  it  up  and  turning,  ran  part  way  down  the 
circular  staircase.  She  could  hear  Arnold  fumbling  at 
the  lock  outside.  She  slipped  down  quietly  and  opened 
the  door :  he  was  inside  before  she  had  got  back  to  the 
stairs.  It  was  quite  dark,  but  she  could  see  his  white 
shirt-bosom.  From  the  fourth  step  she  fired.  As  he 
fell,  somebody  in,  the  billiard-room  screamed  and  ran. 
When  the  alarm  was  raised,  she  had  had  no  time  to 
get  up-stairs :  she  hid  in  the  west  wing  until  every  one 
was  down  on  the  lower  floor.  Then  she  slipped  up- 
stairs, and  threw  the  revolver  out  of  an  upper  window, 
going  down  again  in  time  to  admit  the  men  from  the 
Greenwood  Club. 

If  Thomas  had  suspected,  he  had  never  told.  When 
she  found  the  hand  Arnold  had  injured  was  growing 
worse,  she  gave  the  address  of  Lucien  at  Richfield  to 
the  old  man,  and  almost  a  hundred  dollars.  The  money 
was  for  Lucien's  board  until  she  recovered.  She  had 
sent  for  me  to  ask  me  if  I  would  try  to  interest  the 
Armstrongs  in  the  child.  When  she  found  herself 
growing  worse,  she  had  written  to  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
telling  her  nothing  but  that  Arnold's  legitimate  child 
was  at  Richfield,  and  imploring  her  to  recognize  him. 
She  was  dying:  the  boy  was  an  Armstrong,  and  en- 
titled to  his  father's  share  of  the  estate.  The  papers 
were  in  her  trunk  at  Sunnyside,  with  letters  from  the 
dead  man  that  would  prove  what  she  said.  She  was 


ANNE  WATSON'S  STORY       279 

going;  she  would  not  be  judged  by  earthly  laws;  and 
somewhere  else  perhaps  Lucy  would  plead  for  her.  It 
was  she  who  had  crept  down  the  circular  staircase, 
drawn  by  a  magnet,  that  night  Mr.  Jamieson  had 
heard  some  one  there.  Pursued,  she  had  fled  madly, 
anywhere — through  the  first  door  she  came  to.  She 
had  fallen  down  the  clothes  chute,  and  been  saved  by 
the  basket  beneath.  I  could  have  cried  with  relief; 
then  it  had  not  been  Gertrude,  after  all ! 

That  was  the  story.  Sad  and  tragic  though  it  was, 
the  very  telling  of  it  seemed  to  relieve  the  dying 
woman.  She  did  not  know  that  Thomas  was  dead,  and 
I  did  not  tell  her.  I  promised  to  look  after  little 
Lucien,  and  sat  with  her  until  the  intervals  of  con- 
sciousness grew  shorter  and  finally  ceased  altogether. 
She  died  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

AT    THE   FOOT    OF    THE    STAIRS 

AS  I  drove  rapidly  up  to  the  house  from  Casanova 
Station  in  the  hack,  I  saw  the  detective  Burns 
loitering  across  the  street  from  the  Walker  place.  So 
Jamieson  was  putting  the  screws  on — lightly  now,  but 
ready  to  give  them  a  twist  or  two,  I  felt  certain,  very 
soon. 

The  house  was  quiet.  Two  steps  of  the  circular 
staircase  had  been  pried  off,  without  result,  and  be- 
yond a  second  message  from  Gertrude,  that  Halsey 
insisted  on  coming  home  and  they  would  arrive  that 
night,  there  was  nothing  new.  Mr.  Jamieson,  having 
failed  to  locate  the  secret  room,  had  gone  to  the  vil- 
lage. I  learned  afterwards  that  he  called  at  Doctor 
Walker's,  under  pretense  of  an  attack  of  acute  indi- 
gestion, and  before  he  left,  had  inquired  about  the 
evening  trains  to  the  city.  He  said  he  had  wasted  a 
lot  of  time  on  the  case,  and  a  good  bit  of  the  mystery 
was  in  my  imagination!  The  doctor  was  under  the 
impression  that  the  house  was  guarded  day  and  night. 
Well,  give  a  place  a  reputation  like  that,  and  you 
don't  need  a  guard  at  all, — thus  Jamieson.  And  sure 
enough,  late  in  the  afternoon,  the  two  private  detec- 
tives, accompanied  by  Mr.  Jamieson,  walked  down  the 
main  street  of  Casanova  and  took  a  city-bound  train. 

280 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  STAIRS     281 

That  they  got  off  at  the  next  station  and  walked 
back  again  to  Sunnyside  at  dusk,  was  not  known  at 
the  time.  Personally,  I  knew  nothing  of  either  move; 
I  had  other  things  to  absorb  me  at  that  time. 

Liddy  brought  me  some  tea  while  I  rested  after  my 
trip,  and  on  the  tray  was  a  small  book  from  the  Casa- 
nova library.  It  was  called  The  Unseen  World  and 
had  a  cheerful  cover  on  which  a  half-dozen  sheeted 
figures  linked  hands  around  a  headstone. 

At  this  point  in  my  story,  Halsey  always  says : 
"Trust  a  woman  to  add  two  and  two  together,  and 
make  six."  To  which  I  retort  that  if  two  and  two 
plus  X  make  six,  then  to  discover  the  unknown  quan- 
tity is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world.  That  a  house- 
ful of  detectives  missed  it  entirely  was  because  they 
were  busy  trying  to  prove  that  two  and  two  make 
four. 

The  depression  due  to  my  visit  to  the  hospital  left 
me  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  Halsey  again  that  night. 
It  was  about  five  o'clock  when  Liddy  left  me  for  a  nap 
before  dinner,  having  put  me  into  a  gray  silk  dress- 
ing-gown and  a  pair  of  slippers.  I  listened  to  her 
retreating  footsteps,  and  as  soon  as  she  was  safely 
below  stairs,  I  went  up  to  the  trunk-room.  The  place 
had  not  been  disturbed,  and  I  proceeded  at  once  to  try 
to  discover  the  entrance  to  the  hidden  room.  The 
openings  on  either  side,  as  I  have  said,  showed  noth- 
ing but  perhaps  three  feet  of  brick  wall.  There  was 
no  sign  of  an  entrance — no  levers,  no  hinges,  to  give 
a  hint.  Either  the  mantel  or  the  roof,  I  decided,  and 


282     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

after  a  half-hour  at  the  mantel,  productive  of  abso- 
lutely no  result,  I  decided  to  try  the  roof. 

I  am  not  fond  of  a  height.  The  few  occasions  OH 
which  I  have  climbed  a  step-ladder  have  always  left 
me  dizzy  and  weak  in  the  knees.  The  top  of  the 
Washington  Monument  is  as  impossible  to  me  as  the 
elevation  of  the  presidential  chair.  And  yet — I 
climbed  out  on  to  the  Sunnyside  roof  without  a  sec- 
ond's hesitation.  Like  a  dog  on  a  scent,  like  my  bear- 
skin progenitor,  with  his  spear  and  his  wilji  boar,  to 
me  now  there  was  the  lust  of  the  chase,  the  frenzy  of 
pursuit,  the  dust  of  battle.  I  got  quite  a  little  of  the 
latter  on  me  as  I  climbed  from  the  unfinished  ball- 
room out  through  a  window  to  the  roof  of  the  east 
wing  of  the  building,  which  was  only  two  stories  in 
height. 

Once  out  there,  access  to  the  top  of  the  main  build- 
ing was  rendered  easy — at  least  it  looked  easy — by  a 
small  vertical  iron  ladder,  fastened  to  the  wall  out- 
side of  the  ball-room,  and  perhaps  twelve  feet  high. 
The  twelve  feet  looked  short  from  below,  but  they  were 
difficult  to  climb.  I  gathered  my  silk  gown  around  me, 
and  succeeded  finally  in  making  the  top  of  the  ladder. 
Once  there,  however,  I  was  completely  out  of  breath. 
I  sat  down,  my  feet  on  the  top  rung,  and  put  my  hair- 
pins in  more  securely,  while  the  wind  bellowed  my 
dressing-gown  out  like  a  sail.  I  had  torn  a  great 
strip  of  the  silk  loose,  and  now  I  ruthlessly  finished 
the  destruction  of  my  gown  by  jerking  it  free  and 
trying  it  around  my  head. 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  STAIRS     283 

From  far  below  the  smallest  sounds  came  up  with 
peculiar  distinctness.  I  could  hear  the  paper  boy 
whistling  down  the  drive,  and  I  heard  something  else. 
I  heard  the  thud  of  a  stone,  and  a  spit,  followed  by  a, 
long  and  startled  meiou  from  Beulah.  I  forgot  my 
fear  of  a  height,  and  advanced  boldly  almost  to  the 
edge  of  the  roof. 

It  was  half -past  six  by  that  time,  and  growing 
dusk. 

"You  boy,  down  there!"  I  called. 

The  paper  boy  turned  and  looked  around.  Then, 
seeing  nobody,  he  raised  his  eyes.  It  was  a  moment 
before  he  located  me :  when  he  did,  he  stood  for  one 
moment  as  if  paralyzed,  then  he  gave  a  horrible  yell, 
and  dropping  his  papers,  bolted  across  the  lawn  to 
the  road  without  stopping  to  look  around.  Once  he 
fell,  and  his  impetus  was  so  great  that  he  turned  an 
involuntary  somersault.  He  was  up  and  off  again 
without  any  perceptible  pause,  and  he  leaped  the 
hedge — which  I  am  sure  under  ordinary  stress  would 
have  been  a  feat  for  a  man. 

I  am  glad  in  this  way  to  settle  the  Gray  Lady  story, 
which  is  still  a  choice  morsel  in  Casanova.  I  believe 
the  moral  deduced  by  the  village  was  that  it  is  always 
unlucky  to  throw  a  stone  at  a  black  cat. 

With  Johnny  Sweeny  a  cloud  of  dust  down  the 
road,  and  tlie  dinner-hour  approaching,  I  hurried  on 
with  my  investigations.  Luckily,  the  roof  was  flat, 
and  I  was  able  to  go  over  every  inch  of  it.  But  the 
result  was  disappointing;  no  trap-door  revealed  it- 


284     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

self,  no  glass  window;  nothing  but  a  couple  of  pipes 
two  inches  across,  and  standing  perhaps  eighteen 
inches  high  and  three  feet  apart,  with  a  cap  to  pre- 
vent rain  from  entering  and  raised  to  permit  the 
passage  of  air.  I  picked  up  a  pebble  from  the  roof 
and  dropped  it  down,  listening  with  my  ear  at  one  of 
the  pipes.  I  could  hear  it  strike  on  something  with 
a  sharp,  metallic  sound,  but  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  tell  how  far  it  had  gone. 

I  gave  up  finally  and  went  down  the  ladder  again, 
getting  in  through  the  ball-room  window  without  be- 
ing observed.  I  went  back  at  once  to  the  trunk-room, 
and,  sitting  down  on  a  box,  I  gave  my  mind,  as  con- 
sistently as  I  could,  to  the  problem  before  me.  If  the 
pipes  in  the  roof  were  ventilators  to  the  secret  room, 
and  there  was  no  trap-door  above,  the  entrance  was 
probably  in  one  of  the  two  rooms  between  which  it  lay 
— unless,  indeed,  the  room  had  been  built,  and  the 
opening  then  closed  with  a  brick  and  mortar  wall. 

The  mantel  fascinated  me.  Made  of  wood  and 
carved,  the  more  I  looked  the  more  I  wondered  that 
I  had  not  noticed  before  the  absurdity  of  such  a  man- 
tel in  such  a  place.  It  was  covered  with  scrolls  and 
panels,  and  finally,  by  the  merest  accident,  I  pushed 
one  of  the  panels  to  the  side.  It  moved  easily,  reveal- 
ing a  small  brass  knob. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  detail  the  fluctuations  of  hope 
and  despair,  and  not  a  little  fear  of  what  lay  beyond, 
with  which  I  twisted  and  turned  the  knob.  It  moved, 
but  nothing  seemed  to  happen,  and  then  I  discovered 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  STAIRS    285 

the  trouble.  I  pushed  the  knob  vigorously  to  one  side, 
and  the  whole  mantel  swung  loose  from  the  wall  al- 
most a  foot,  revealing  a  cavernous  space  beyond. 

I  took  a  long  breath,  closed  the  door  from  the 
trunk-room  into  the  hall — thank  Heaven,  I  did  not 
lock  it — and  pulling  the  mantel-door  wide  open,  I 
stepped  into  the  chimney-room.  I  had  time  to  get  a 
hazy  view  of  a  small  portable  safe,  a  common  wooden 
table  and  a  chair — then  the  mantel  door  swung  to, 
and  clicked  behind  me.  I  stood  quite  still  for  a  mo- 
ment, in  the  darkness,  unable  to  comprehend  what 
had  happened.  Then  I  turned  and  beat  furiously  at 
the  door  with  my  fists.  It  was  closed  and  locked  again, 
and  my  fingers  in  the  darkness  slid  over  a  smooth 
wooden  surface  without  a  sign  of  a  knob. 

I  was  furiously  angry — at  myself,  at  the  mantel- 
door,  at  everything.  I  did  not  fear  suffocation;  before 
the  thought  had  come  to  me  I  had  already  seen  a 
gleam  of  light  from  the  two  small  ventilating  pipes 
in  the  roof.  They  supplied  air,  but  nothing  else.  The 
room  itself  was  shrouded  in  blackness. 

I  sat  down  in  the  stiff-backed  chair  and  tried  to  re- 
member how  many  days  one  could  live  without  food 
and  water.  When  that  grew  monotonous  and  rather 
painful,  I  got  up  and,  according  to  the  time-honored 
rule  of  people  shut  in  unknown  and  ink-black  prisons, 
I  felt  my  way  around — it  was  small  enough,  goodness 
knows.  I  felt  nothing  but  a  splintery  surface  of 
boards,  and  in  endeavoring  to  get  back  to  the  chair, 
something  struck  me  full  in  the  face,  and  fell  with 


286     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

the  noise  of  a  thousand  explosions  to  the  ground. 
When  I  had  gathered  up  my  nerves  again,  I  found  it 
had  been  the  bulb  of  a  swinging  electric  light,  and 
that  had  it  not  been  for  the  accident,  I  might  have 
starved  to  death  in  an  illuminated  sepulcher. 

I  must  have  dozed  off.  I  am  sure  I  did  not  faint.  I 
was  never  more  composed  in  my  life.  I  remember 
planning,  if  I  were  not  discovered,  who  would  have  my 
things.  I  knew  Liddy  would  want  my  heliotrope  pop- 
lin, and  she's  a  fright  in  lavender.  Once  or  twice 
I  heard  mice  in  the  partitions,  and  so  I  sat  on  the 
table,  with  my  feet  on  the  chair.  I  imagined  I  could 
hear  the  search  going  on  through  the  house,  and  once 
some  one  came  into  the  trunk-room ;  I  could  distinctly 
hear  footsteps. 

"In  the  chimney !  In  the  chimney !"  I  called  with  all 
my  might,  and  was  rewarded  by  a  piercing  shriek 
from  Liddy  and  the  slam  of  the  trunk-room  door. 

I  felt  easier  after  that,  although  the  room  was  op- 
pressively hot  and  enervating.  I  had  no  doubt  the 
search  for  me  would  now  come  in  the  right  direction, 
and  after  a  little,  I  dropped  into  a  doze.  How  long 
I  slept  I  do  not  know. 

It  must  have  been  several  hours,  for  I  had  been  tired 
from  a  busy  day,  and  I  wakened  stiff  from  my  awk- 
ward position.  I  could  not  remember  where  I  was  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  my  head  felt  heavy  and  congested. 
Gradually  I  roused  to  my  surroundings,  and  to  the 
fact  that  in  spite  of  the  ventilators,  the  air  was  bad 
and  growing  worse.  I  was  breathing  long,  gasping 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  STAIRS    287 

respirations,  and  my  face  was  damp  and  clammy.  I 
must  have  been  there  a  long  time,  and  the  searchers 
were  probably  hunting  outside  the  house,  dredging  the 
creek,  or  beating  the  woodland.  I  knew  that  another 
hour  or  two  would  find  me  unconscious,  and  with  my 
inability  to  cry  out  would  go  my  only  chance  of  rescue. 
It  was  the  combination  of  bad  air  and  heat,  probably, 
for  some  inadequate  ventilation  was  coming  through 
the  pipes.  I  tried  to  retain  my  consciousness  by  walk- 
ing the  length  of  the  room  and  back,  over  and  over, 
but  I  had  not  the  strength  to  keep  it  up,  so  I  sat  down 
on  the  table  again,  my  back  against  the  wall. 

The  house  was  very  still.  Once  my  straining  ears 
seemed  to  catch  a  footfall  beneath  me,  possibly  in  my 
own  room.  I  groped  for  the  chair  from  the  table,  and 
pounded  with  it  frantically  on  the  floor.  But  nothing 
happened:  I  realized  bitterly  that  if  the  sound  was 
heard  at  all,  no  doubt  it  was  classed  with  the  other 
rappings  that  had  so  alarmed  us  recently. 

It  was  impossible  to  judge  the  flight  of  time.  I 
measured  five  minutes  by  counting  my  pulse,  allowing 
seventy-two  beats  to  the  minute.  But  it  took  eterni- 
ties, and  toward  the  last  I  found  it  hard  to  count ;  my 
head  was  confused. 

And  then — I  heard  sounds  from  below  me,  in  the 
house.  There  was  a  peculiar  throbbing,  vibrating 
noise  that  I  felt  rather  than  heard,  much  like  the  puls- 
ing beat  of  fire  engines  in  the  city.  For  one  awful 
moment  I  thought  the  house  was  on  fire,  and  every 
drop  of  blood  in  my  body  gathered  around  my  heart : 


288    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

then  I  knew.  It  was  the  engine  of  the  automobile, 
and  Halsey  had  come  back.  Hope  sprang  up  afresh. 
Halsey's  clear  head  and  Gertrude's  intuition  might 
do  what  Liddy's  hysteria  and  three  detectives  had 
failed  in. 

After  a  time  I  thought  I  had  been  right.  There  was 
certainly  something  going  on  down  below ;  doors  were 
slamming,  people  were  hurrying  through  the  halls, 
and  certain  high  notes  of  excited  voices  penetrated  to 
me  shrilly.  I  hoped  they  were  coming  closer,  but  after 
a  time  the  sounds  died  away  below,  and  I  was  left  to 
the  silence  and  heat,  to  the  weight  of  the  darkness,  to 
the  oppression  of  walls  that  seemed  to  close  in  on  me 
and  stifle  me. 

The  first  warning  I  had  was  a  stealthy  fumbling 
at  the  lock  of  the  mantel-door.  With  my  mouth  open 
to  scream,  I  stopped.  Perhaps  the  situation  had  ren- 
dered me  acute,  perhaps  it  was  instinctive.  Whatever 
it  was,  I  sat  without  moving,  and  some  one  outside, 
in  absolute  stillness — ran  his  fingers  over  the  carving 
of  the  mantel  and — found  the  panel. 

Now  the  sounds  below  redoubled :  from  the  clatter 
and  jarring  I  knew  that  several  people  were  running 
up  the  stairs,  and  as  the  sounds  approached,  I  could 
even  hear  what  they  said. 

"Watch  the  end  staircases!"  Jamieson  was  shout- 
ing. "Damnation — there's  no  light  here !"  And  then 
a  second  later.  "All  together  now.  One — two — 
three—" 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  STAIRS    289 

The  door  into  the  trunk-room  had  been  locked  from 
the  inside.  At  the  second  that  it  gave,  opening  against 
the  wall  with  a  crash  and  evidently  tumbling  some- 
body into  the  room,  the  stealthy  fingers  beyond  the 
mantel-door  gave  the  knob  the  proper  impetus,  and 
— the  door  swung  open,  and  closed  again.  Only — and 
Liddy  always  screams  and  puts  her  fingers  in  her  ears 
at  this  point — only  now  I  was  not  alone  in  the  chim- 
ney room.  There  was  some  one  else  in  the  darkness, 
some  one  who  breathed  hard,  and  who  was  so  close  I 
could  have  touched  him  with  my  hand. 

I  was  in  a  paralysis  of  terror.  Outside  there  were 
excited  voices  and  incredulous  oaths.  The  trunks 
were  being  jerked  around  in  a  frantic  search,  the  win- 
dows were  thrown  open,  only  to  show  a  sheer  drop  of 
forty  feet.  And  the  man  in  the  room  with  me  leaned 
against  the  mantel-door  and  listened.  His  pursuers 
were  plainly  baffled :  I  heard  him  draw  a  long  breath, 
and  turn  to  grope  his  way  through  the  blackness. 
Then — he  touched  my  hand,  cold,  clammy,  death- 
like. 

A  hand  in  an  empty  room !  He  drew  in  his  breath, 
the  sharp  intaking  of  horror  that  fills  lungs  suddenly 
collapsed.  Beyond  jerking  his  hand  away  instantly, 
he  made  no  movement.  I  think  absolute  terror  had  him 
by  the  throat.  Then  he  stepped  back,  without  turn- 
ing, retreating  foot  by  foot  from  The  Dread  in  the 
corner,  and  I  do  not  think  he  breathed. 

Then,    with    the    relief    of    space    between    us,    I 


290    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

screamed,  ear-splittingly,  madly,  and  they  heard  me 
outside. 

"In  the  chimney !"  I  shrieked.  "Behind  the  mantel ! 
The  mantel!" 

With  an  oath  the  figure  hurled  itself  across  the 
room  at  me,  and  I  screamed  again.  In  his  blind  fury 
he  had  missed  me;  I  heard  him  strike  the  wall.  That 
one  time  I  eluded  him;  I  was  across  the  room,  and  I 
had  got  the  chair.  He  stood  for  a  second,  listening, 
then — he  made  another  rush,  and  I  struck  out  with 
my  weapon.  I  think  it  stunned  him,  for  I  had  a  sec- 
ond's respite  when  I  could  hear  him  breathing,  and 
some  one  shouted  outside: 

"We — can't — get — in.    How — does — it — open  ?" 

But  the  man  in  the  room  had  changed  his  tactics.  I 
knew  he  was  creeping  on  me,  inch  by  inch,  and  I  could 
not  tell  from  where.  And  then — he  caught  me.  He 
held  his  hand  over  my  mouth,  and  I  bit  him.  I  was 
helpless,  strangling, — and  some  one  was  trying  to 
break  in  the  mantel  from  outside.  It  began  to  yield 
somewhere,  for  a  thin  wedge  of  yellowish  light  was 
reflected  on  the  opposite  wall.  When  he  saw  that,  my 
assailant  dropped  me  with  a  curse ;  then — the  opposite 
wall  swung  open  noiselessly,  closed  again  without  a 
sound,  and  I  was  alone.  The  intruder  was  gone. 

"In  the  next  room!"  I  called  wildly.  "The  next 
room !"  But  the  sound  of  blows  on  the  mantel  drowned 
my  voice.  By  the  time  I  had  made  them  understand, 
a  couple  of  minutes  had  elapsed.  The  pursuit  was 
taken  up  then,  by  all  except  Alex,  who  was  determined 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  STAIRS    291 

to  liberate  me.  When  I  stepped  out  into  the  trunk- 
room,  a  free  woman  again,  I  could  hear  the  chase  far 
below. 

I  must  say,  for  all  Alex's  anxiety  to  set  me  free, 
he  paid  little  enough  attention  to  my  plight.  He 
jumped  through  the  opening  into  the  secret  room, 
and  picked  up  the  portable  safe. 

"I  am  going  to  put  this  in  Mr.  Halsey's  room,  Miss 
Innes,"  he  said,  "and  I  shall  send  one  of  the  detectives 
to  guard  it." 

I  hardly  heard  him.  I  wanted  to  laugh  and  cry  in 
the  same  breath — to  crawl  into  bed  and  have  a  cup  of 
tea,  and  scold  Liddy,  and  do  any  of  the  thousand 
natural  things  that  I  had  never  expected  to  do  again. 
And  the  air!  The  touch  of  the  cool  night  air  on  my 
face! 

As  Alex  and  I  reached  the  second  floor,  Mr.  Jamie- 
son  met  us.  He  was  grave  and  quiet,  and  he  nodded 
comprehendingly  when  he  saw  the  safe. 

"Will  you  come  with  me  for  a  moment,  Miss  In- 
nes?" he  asked  soberly,  and  on  my  assenting,  he  led 
the  way  to  the  east  wing.  There  were  lights  moving 
around  below,  and  some  of  the  maids  were  standing 
gaping  down.  They  screamed  when  they  saw  me,  and 
drew  back  to  let  me  pass.  There  was  a  sort  of  hush 
over  the  scene;  Alex,  behind  me,  muttered  something 
I  could  not  hear,  and  brushed  past  me  without  cere- 
mony. Then  I  realized  that  a  man  was  lying  doubled 
up  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  and  that  Alex  was 
stooping  over  him. 


292     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

As  I  came  slowly  down,  Winters  stepped  back,  and 
Alex  straightened  himself,  looking  at  me  across  the 
body  with  impenetrable  eyes.  In  his  hand  he  held  a 
shaggy  gray  wig,  and  before  me  on  the  floor  lay  the 
man  whose  headstone  stood  in  Casanova  churchyard — 
Paul  Armstrong. 

Winters  told  the  story  in  a  dozen  words.  In  his 
headlong  flight  down  the  circular  staircase,  with  Win- 
ters just  behind,  Paul  Armstrong  had  pitched  forward 
violently,  struck  his  head  against  the  door  to  the  east 
veranda,  and  probably  broken  his  neck.  He  had  died 
as  Winters  reached  him. 

As  the  detective  finished,  I  saw  Halsey,  pale  and 
shaken,  in  the  card-room  doorway,  and  for  the  first 
time  that  night  I  lost  my  self-control.  I  put  my  arms 
around  my  boy,  and  for  a  moment  he  had  to  support 
me.  A  second  later,  over  Halsey 's  shoulder,  I  saw 
something  that  turned  my  emotion  into  other  channels, 
for,  behind  him,  in  the  shadowy  card-room,  were 
Gertrude  and  Alex,  the  gardener,  and — there  is  no  use 
mincing  matters — he  was  kissing  her! 

I  was  unable  to  speak.  Twice  I  opened  my  mouth: 
then  I  turned  Halsey  around  and  pointed.  They  were 
quite  unconscious  of  us;  her  head  was  on  his  shoulder, 
his  face  against  her  hair.  As  it  happened,  it  was  Mr. 
Jamieson  who  broke  up  the  tableau. 

He  stepped  over  to  Alex  and  touched  him  on  the 
arm. 

"And  now,"  he  said  quietly,  "how  long  are  you  and 
I  to  play  our  little  comedy,  Mr.  Bailey?" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE   ODDS   AND   ENDS 

OF  Doctor  Walker's  sensational  escape  that  night 
to  South  America,  of  the  recovery  of  over  a 
million  dollars  in  cash  and  securities  in  the  safe  from 
the  chimney  room — the  papers  have  kept  the  public 
well  informed.  Of  my  share  in  discovering  the  secret 
chamber  they  have  been  singularly  silent.  The  inner 
history  has  never  been  told.  Mr.  Jamieson  got  all 
kinds  of  credit,  and  some  of  it  he  deserved,  but  if 
Jack  Bailey,  as  Alex,  had  not  traced  Halsey  and  in- 
sisted on  the  disinterring  of  Paul  Armstrong's  casket, 
if  he  had  not  suspected  the  truth  from  the  start,  where 
would  the  detective  have  been? 

When  Halsey  learned  the  truth,  he  insisted  on  go- 
ing the  next  morning,  weak  as  he  was,  to  Louise,  and 
by  night  she  was  at  Sunnyside,  under  Gertrude's  par- 
ticular care,  while  her  mother  had  gone  to  Barbara 
Fitzhugh's. 

What  Halsey  said  to  Mrs.  Armstrong  I  never  knew, 
but  that  he  was  considerate  and  chivalrous  I  feel  confi- 
dent. It  was  Halsey's  way  always  with  women. 

He  and  Louise  had  no  conversation  together  until 
that  night.  Gertrude  and  Alex — I  mean  Jack — had 
gone  for  a  walk,  although  it  was  nine  o'clock,  and 
anybody  but  a  pair  of  young  geese  would  have  known 


294     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

that  dew  was  falling,  and  that  it  is  next  to  impossible 
to  get  rid  of  a  summer  cold. 

At  half  after  nine,  growing  weary  of  my  own  com- 
pany, I  went  down-stairs  to  find  the  young  people.  At 
the  door  of  the  living-room  I  paused.  Gertrude  and 
Jack  had  returned  and  were  there,  sitting  together  on 
a  divan,  with  only  one  lamp  lighted.  They  did  not  see 
or  hear  me,  and  I  beat  a  hasty  retreat  to  the  library. 
But  here  again  I  was  driven  back.  Louise  was  sitting 
in  a  deep  chair,  looking  the  happiest  I  had  ever  seen 
her,  with  Halsey  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  holding  her 
close. 

It  was  no  place  for  an  elderly  spinster.  I  retired  to 
my  up-stairs  sitting-room  and  got  out  Eliza  Kline- 
felter's  lavender  slippers.  Ah,  well,  the  foster  mother- 
hood would  soon  have  to  be  put  away  in  camphor 
again. 

The  next  day,  by  degrees,  I  got  the  whole  story. 

Paul  Armstrong  had  a  besetting  evil — the  love  of 
money.  Common  enough,  but  he  loved  money,  not  for 
what  it  would  buy,  but  for  its  own  sake.  An  examina- 
tion of  the  books  showed  no  irregularities  in  the  past 
year  since  John  had  been  cashier,  but  before  that,  in 
the  time  of  Anderson,  the  old  cashier,  who  had  died, 
much  strange  juggling  had  been  done  with  the  rec- 
ords. The  railroad  in  New  Mexico  had  apparently 
drained  the  banker's  private  fortune,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  retrieve  it  by  one  stroke.  This  was  nothing 
less  than  the  looting  of  the  bank's  securities,  turning 
them  into  money,  and  making  his  escape. 


THE  ODDS  AND  ENDS          295 

But  the  law  has  long  arms.  Paul  Armstrong  evi- 
dently studied  the  situation  carefully.  Just  as  the 
only  good  Indian  is  a  dead  Indian,  so  the  only  safe  de- 
faulter is  a  dead  defaulter.  He  decided  to  die,  to  all 
appearances,  and  when  the  hue  and  cry  subsided,  he 
would  be  able  to  enjoy  his  money  almost  anywhere  he 
wished. 

The  first  necessity  was  an  accomplice.  The  con- 
nivance of  Doctor  Walker  was  suggested  by  his  love 
for  Louise.  The  man  was  unscrupulous,  and  with  the 
girl  as  a  bait,  Paul  Armstrong  soon  had  him  fast.  The 
plan  was  apparently  the  acme  of  simplicity:  a  small 
town  in  the  west,  an  attack  of  heart  disease,  a  body 
from  a  medical  college  dissecting-room  shipped  in  a 
trunk  to  Doctor  Walker  by  a  colleague  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  palmed  off  for  the  supposed  dead  banker. 
What  was  simpler? 

The  woman,  Nina  Carrington,  was  the  cog  that 
slipped.  What  she  only  suspected,  what  she  really 
knew,  we  never  learned.  She  was  a  chambermaid  in 
the  hotel  at  C — ,  and  it  was  evidently  her  intention  to 
blackmail  Doctor  Walker.  His  position  at  that  time 
was  uncomfortable:  to  pay  the  woman  to  keep  quiet 
would  be  confession.  He  denied  the  whole  thing,  and 
she  went  to  Halsey. 

It  was  this  that  had  taken  Halsey  to  the  doctor  the 
night  he  disappeared.  He  accused  the  doctor  of  the 
deception,  and,  crossing  the  lawn,  had  said  something 
cruel  to  Louise.  Then,  furious  at  her  apparent  con- 
nivance, he  had  started  for  the  station.  Doctor  Walker 


296     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

and  Paul  Armstrong — the  latter  still  lame  where  I  had 
shot  him — hurried  across  to  the  embankment,  certain 
only  of  one  thing.  Halsey  must  not  tell  the  detective 
what  he  suspected  until  the  money  had  been  removed 
from  the  chimney-room.  They  stepped  into  the  road 
in  front  of  the  car  to  stop  it,  and  fate  played  into  their 
hands.  The  car  struck  the  train,  and  they  had  only  to 
dispose  of  the  unconscious  figure  in  the  road.  This 
they  did  as  I  have  told.  For  three  days  Halsey  lay  in 
the  box  car,  tied  hand  and  foot,  suffering  tortures  of 
thirst,  delirious  at  times,  and  discovered  by  a  tramp  at 
Johnsville  only  in  time  to  save  his  life. 

To  go  back  to  Paul  Armstrong.  At  the  last  mo- 
ment his  plans  had  been  frustrated.  Sunnyside,  with 
its  hoard  in  the  chimney-room,  had  been  rented  with- 
out his  knowledge !  Attempts  to  dislodge  me  having 
failed,  he  was  driven  to  breaking  into  his  own  house. 
The  ladder  in  the  chute,  the  burning  of  the  stable  and 
the  entrance  through  the  card-room  window — all  were 
in  the  course  of  a  desperate  attempt  to  get  into  the 
chimney-room. 

Louise  and  her  mother  had,  from  the  first,  been  the 
great  stumbling-blocks.  The  plan  had  been  to  send 
Louise  away  until  it  was  too  late  for  her  to  interfere, 
but  she  came  back  to  the  hotel  at  C —  just  at  the 
wrong  time.  There  was  a  terrible  scene.  The  girl  was 
told  that  something  of  the  kind  was  necessary;  that 
the  bank  was  about  to  close  and  her  stepfather  would 
either  avoid  arrest  and  disgrace  in  this  way,  or  kill 


THE  ODDS  AND  ENDS          297 

himself.  Fanny  Armstrong  was  a  weakling,  but  Louise 
was  more  difficult  to  manage.  She  had  no  love  for  her 
stepfather,  but  her  devotion  to  her  mother  was  entire, 
self-sacrificing.  Forced  into  acquiescence  by  her  moth- 
er's appeals,  overwhelmed  by  the  situation,  the  girl 
consented  and  fled. 

From  somewhere  in  Colorado  she  sent  an  anony- 
mous telegram  to  Jack  Bailey  at  the  Traders'  Bank. 
Trapped  as  she  was,  she  did  not  want  to  see  an 
innocent  man  arrested.  The  telegram,  received  on 
Thursday,  had  sent  the  cashier  to  the  bank  that  night 
in  a  frenzy. 

Louise  arrived  at  Sunnyside  and  found  the  house 
rented.  Not  knowing  what  to  do,  she  sent  for  Arnold 
at  the  Greenwood  Club,  and  told  him  a  little,  not  all. 
She  told  him  that  there  was  something  wrong,  and 
that  the  bank  was  about  to  close.  That  his  father  was 
responsible.  Of  the  conspiracy  she  said  nothing.  To 
her  surprise,  Arnold  already  knew,  through  Bailey 
that  night,  that  things  were  not  right.  Moreover,  he 
suspected  what  Louise  did  not,  that  the  money  was  hid- 
den at  Sunnyside.  He  had  a  scrap  of  paper  that  indi- 
cated a  concealed  room  somewhere. 

His  inherited  cupidity  was  aroused.  Eager  to  get 
Halsey  and  Jack  Bailey  out  of  the  house,  he  went  up 
to  the  east  entry,  and  in  the  billiard-room  gave  the 
cashier  what  he  had  refused  earlier  in  the  evening — 
the  address  of  Paul  Armstrong  in  California  and  a 
telegram  which  had  been  forwarded  to  the  dub  for 


298     THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

Bailey,  from  Doctor  Walker.  It  was  in  response  to 
one  Bailey  had  sent,  and  it  said  that  Paul  Armstrong 
was  very  ill. 

Bailey  was  almost  desperate.  He  decided  to  go  west 
and  find  Paul  Armstrong,  and  to  force  him  to  dis- 
gorge. But  the  catastrophe  at  the  bank  occurred 
sooner  than  he  had  expected.  On  the  moment  of  start- 
ing west,  at  Andrews  Station,  where  Mr.  Jamieson  had 
located  the  car,  he  read  that  the  bank  had  closed,  and, 
going  back,  surrendered  himself. 

John  Bailey  had  known  Paul  Armstrong  intimately. 
He  did  not  believe  that  the  money  was  gone ;  in  fact,  it 
was  hardly  possible  in  the  interval  since  the  securities 
had  been  taken.  Where  was  it?  And  from  some 
chance  remark  let  fall  some  months  earlier  by  Arnold 
Armstrong  at  a  dinner,  Bailey  felt  sure  there  was  a 
hidden  room  at  Sunnyside.  He  tried  to  see  the  archi- 
tect of  the  building,  but,  like  the  contractor,  if  he 
knew  of  the  room,  he  refused  any  information.  It 
was  Halsey's  idea  that  John  Bailey  come  to  the  house 
as  a  gardener,  and  pursue  his  investigations  as  he  could. 
His  smooth  upper  lip  had  been  sufficient  disguise,  with 
his  change  of  clothes,  and  a  hair-cut  by  a  country 
barber. 

So  it  was  Alex,  Jack  Bailey,  who  had  been  our 
ghost.  Not  only  had  he  alarmed  Louise — and  himself, 
he  admitted — on  the  circular  staircase,  but  he  had  dug 
the  hole  in  the  trunk-room  wall,  and  later  sent  Eliza 
into  hysteria.  The  note  Liddy  had  found  in  Ger- 
trude's scrap-basket  was  from  him,  and  it  was  he  who 


THE  ODDS  AND  ENDS          299 

had  startled  me  into  unconsciousness  by  the  clothes 
chute,  and,  with  Gertrude's  help,  had  carried  me  to 
Louise's  room.  Gertrude,  I  learned,  had  watched  all 
night  beside  me,  in  an  extremity  of  anxiety  about  me. 

That  old  Thomas  had  seen  his  master,  and  thought 
he  had  seen  the  Sunnyside  ghost,  there  could  be  no 
doubt.  Of  that  story  of  Thomas',  about  seeing  Jack 
Bailey  in  the  footpath  between  the  club  and  Sunny- 
side,  the  night  Liddy  and  I  heard  the  noise  on  the  cir- 
cular staircase — that,  too,  was  right.  On  the  night 
before  Arnold  Armstrong  was  murdered,  Jack  Bailey 
had  made  an  attempt  to  search  for  the  secret  room. 
He  secured  Arnold's  keys  from  his  room  at  the  club, 
and  got  into  the  house,  armed  with  a  golf-stick  for 
sounding  the  walls.  He  ran  against  the  hamper  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  caught  his  cuff-link  in  it,  and 
dropped  the  golf-stick  with  a  crash.  He  was  glad 
enough  to  get  away  without  an  alarm  being  raised,  and 
he  took  the  "owl"  train  to  town. 

The  oddest  thing  to  me  was  that  Mr.  Jamieson  had 
known  for  some  time  that  Alex  was  Jack  Bailey.  But 
the  face  of  the  pseudo-gardener  was  very  queer  indeed, 
when  that  night,  in  the  card-room,  the  detective  turned 
to  him  and  said : 

"How  long  are  you  and  I  going  to  play  our  little 
comedy,  Mr.  Bailey  f" 

Well,  it  is  all  over  now.  Paul  Armstrong  rests  in 
Casanova  churchyard,  and  this  time  there  is  no  mis- 
take. I  went  to  the  funeral,  because  I  wanted  to  be 
sure  he  was  really  buried,  and  I  looked  at  the  step  of 


300    THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE 

the  shaft  where  I  had  sat  that  night,  and  wondered  if 
it  was  all  real.  Sunnyside  is  for  sale — no,  I  shall  not 
buy  it.  Little  Lucien  Armstrong  is  living  with  his 
step-grandmother,  and  she  is  recovering  gradually 
from  troubles  that  had  extended  over  the  entire  period 
of  her  second  marriage.  Anne  Watson  lies  not  far 
from  the  man  she  killed,  and  who  as  surely  caused  her 
death.  Thomas,  the  fourth  victim  of  the  conspiracy, 
is  buried  on  the  hill.  With  Nina  Carrington,  five  lives 
were  sacrificed  in  the  course  of  this  grim  conspiracy. 

There  will  be  two  weddings  before  long,  and  Liddy 
has  asked  for  my  heliotrope  poplin  to  wear  to  the 
church.  I  knew  she  would.  She  has  wanted  it  for 
three  years,  and  she  was  quite  ugly  the  time  I  spilled 
coffee  on  it.  We  are  very  quiet,  just  the  two  of  us. 
Liddy  still  clings  to  her  ghost  theory,  and  points  to 
my  wet  and  muddy  boots  in  the  trunk-room  as  proof. 
I  am  gray,  I  admit,  but  I  haven't  felt  as  well  in  a 
dozen  years.  Sometimes,  when  I  am  bored,  I  ring  for 
Liddy,  and  we  talk  things  over.  When  Warner  mar- 
ried Rosie,  Liddy  sniffed  and  said  what  I  took  for 
faithfulness  in  Rosie  had  been  nothing  but  mawkish- 
ness.  I  have  not  yet  outlived  Liddy's  contempt  be- 
cause I  gave  them  silver  knives  and  forks  as  a  wed- 
ding gift. 

So  we  sit  and  talk,  and  sometimes  Liddy  threatens 
to  leave,  and  often  I  discharge  her,  but  we  stay  to- 
gether somehow.  I  am  talking  of  renting  a  house  next 
year,  and  Liddy  says  to  be  sure  there  is  no  ghost.  To 
be  perfectly  frank,  I  never  really  lived  until  that  sum- 


THE  ODDS  AND  ENDS          301 

mer.  Time  has  passed  since  I  began  this  story.  My 
neighbors  are  packing  up  for  another  summer.  Liddy 
is  having  the  awnings  put  up,  and  the  window-boxes 
filled.  Liddy  or  no  Liddy,  I  shall  advertise  to-morrow 
for  a  house  in  the  country,  and  I  don't  care  if  it  has 
a  Circular  Staircase. 


THE  END 


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NOV    21972 


•*i- 


»      FEB  2  5  1975 

•IIAR18197& 


Q  tip  LD-UBI 


JUN25W 


BJomedical  Library 


Biomedicai  L 
4WKOEG05 
NOV  11  1994 

RhOtivcD 


